


'Til We Make It

by Alphabees



Category: Glee
Genre: Canon Compliant up to the beginning of season 6, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Mentions of Finn Hudson's Death, Not Blaine or Klaine Friendly, Past Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel, Plenty of alcohol being consumed, kurtbastian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-01-03 23:07:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 35,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21187490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alphabees/pseuds/Alphabees
Summary: Just because he might have lost Blaine for good, to his reformed high school bully of all people, doesn’t mean Kurt Hummel is spiralling.Some people might say that his most recent behaviour is a sign of just that, but this, of course, is nothing more than hearsay. Poppycock. Balderdash!Yes, he's on his way to pick up another reformed high school bully, and yes, he's in the middle of an elaborate ruse with that same recovered bully, and yes, he may be Kurt's fake-date to his broken-engagement party that is no longer an engagement party, but--...Alright, you caught him. Kurt Hummel is spiralling, and he's getting caught in his own web of lies on his way down.[A Kurtbastian fake dating AU, set throughout season 6.]





	1. One Step Forward...

Despite the monotonous dripping of a faulty faucet and the dull thrumming of speakers in the next room, Kurt’s thoughts are the only thing he can hear. The sound is sickening. He can’t recall the last time his own head became such a loud place. All he wants is to feel something else, anything else-- like the hard tile beneath him pressing the cold into his skin, or the scent of bleach and stale emissions permeating every shallow breath he takes, but none of that revulsion is enough to drown out _Blaine_, or _Karofsky_, or _Blaine and Karofsky._

Oh god. He’s ruined everything.

He pushed Blaine away so sharply and suddenly that he's fallen out of Kurt’s life entirely, and it's taken him too long to figure out what that actually means. Spending the past few months alone in the loft put it all into perspective. Before, he was constantly crowded in there - by Rachel and her shower warm-ups, or Santana and her scathing jibes, or Blaine and all his annoying habits that Kurt would give anything to endure again. One by one, they filtered out of his life until all that remained were several privacy curtains, and nobody to close them on. 

It’s not the first time they’ve split up - it’s not even the first time Kurt has had to deal with the thought of Blaine being with somebody else. It’s just the first time that he has no right to be upset about it which, in and of itself, is devastating. How could he have been so stupid? Two years in New York, and suddenly he assumes the world revolves around him and that Blaine will wait, the same way that they’ve always waited for each other, even after Kurt broke off their _fucking engagement_. 

He could swallow the bitter pill of Blaine moving on, maybe, if it had been with a stranger. He was so sure it would be Sebastian Smythe, and he was so sure that he would have been the worst-case scenario. Dave Karofsky blew that right out of the water. Kurt forgave Dave long ago, but he still hasn’t forgotten. Out there, sitting across from his reformed high school tormentor and the love of his life, every word felt like the back of his head crashing into one of those lockers. He’s glad to see Dave happy, but that particular happiness should be Kurt’s. 

Shouldn’t it? 

Does he even deserve it? 

He can’t find a solid answer for any of his questions. It hurts to try. The pain ripples through him while a tightness swells in his chest, but the ache in his lungs won’t leave no matter how hard he forces each breath out. His diaphragm is tripping over itself, and it takes all of Kurt’s willpower to steady it. 

_In, out, in, out, in--_

The door swings open. Kurt’s head snaps up to watch some inebriated stranger stumble in and give him the motivation he needs to pry himself from the grimy floor - except, he realises right away, it's not a stranger. 

He knows that smirk and the enormous pearly whites that make it so annoying. He remembers that obnoxious hairstyle that's been ripped right out of a failed CW pilot, and that frat-boy reject popped collar. In fact, he had been expecting to see them a few minutes ago.

“Kurt? Kurt Hummel?” 

The voice is familiar too, much like the immediate spike in his blood-cortisol levels it inspires. It’s lacking in its typical vitriol, though, which has been substituted with pure incredulity by the bizarre situation they’ve found themselves in. Hearing it feels like the lid of his coffin slamming shut over him. The night is clearly determined to one-up its own awfulness exponentially - it only makes sense that Kurt will meet his untimely demise by its end. 

Fucking Sebastian Smythe, of all the people it could have possibly been, has walked in on him having an existential crisis over his ex-boyfriend replacing him with the man who once threatened to kill him, curled up on the floor of a public bathroom.

Kurt tears his eyes away as quickly as he laid them on Sebastian, and freezes in place. Perhaps if he stares hard enough at that one tile with the ominous yellow stain on it, he’ll merge with the wall and escape this nightmare altogether.

“I’m not a T-Rex, Kurt. I can still see you.” There goes that plan. Sebastian folds his arms, staring down at Kurt expectantly. He raises his eyebrows, and Kurt pulls his knees towards his chest, desperate to maintain the introspective bubble he’s been floating in. It’s difficult to focus on his self-loathing with somebody staring at him like he’s forgotten something.

“Let’s see,” he begins flatly, searching the ceiling for a script to get him through this - to get Sebastian to leave him be. “Cold-blooded… Reptilian… Predatory… And I’m sure Jeff Goldblum would run screaming if you crossed paths. Are you certain?” 

Sebastian laughs. It’s short, sudden, and surreal in a way that leaves Kurt wondering if he’s ever heard Sebastian actually laugh before. He hasn’t, he thinks - but their previous encounters always left him feeling like he’d been openly cackled at for fifteen minutes straight. Kurt concludes that he just weaves his sniggering into his words, to make his mockery more efficient.

Oddly enough, his response seems to satisfy Sebastian. That air of anticipation slips away, leaving his signature smirk in its wake. “Oh please,” he scoffs, “you and I both know there’s only one hot-blooded male in this room-- but hey, you’re almost dressed like one tonight! Such a shame you had to make that shirt out of your grandma’s living room curtains.” 

“At least I’m not decked out head-to-toe in Abercrombie and Filth,” Kurt retorts; nobody wearing jeans that unflattering should be allowed to say anything about anybody else’s fashion choices. 

“Speaking of filth, is there any reason you’re covering yourself in it?” It’s the golden question, especially now that Sebastian’s appearance has reminded him of just how sleazy this place is. Thinking about the answer, about Blaine, sends his mind reeling for a second too long. Before he can remind Sebastian that he probably made most of the messes surrounding them he speaks again, with a tone Kurt doesn’t recognise. “It couldn’t have anything to do with Blaine’s recent ready-to-mingle relationship status, could it?” 

There’s no venom to it. Kurt braces for a biting chill that doesn’t come, and when he looks up to search for the simper that will prove that Sebastian is only speaking with a cruel imitation of concern... He doesn’t find it. He can’t find anything discernable, actually - he can’t read Sebastian at all. It’s unsettling, so much so that Kurt doesn’t believe it. This must just be the wrong angle to catch the malicious glint in his eye. 

“Look,” Kurt sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as though it might hold back the sheer embarrassment bubbling within. “I don’t know who drew the summoning circle that brought you here, but I’d really appreciate it if you crawled back through it. I’m really… Really not in the mood to be insulted right now.”

“Oh? Well, you insinuated that Jeff Goldblum wouldn’t like me first. I was just following your lead.” Sebastian raises his hands in mock surrender and, to Kurt’s trepidation, leans against the perpendicular wall. “...Well? Am I right?”

“What do you care? You’re too late to make a move on him.” Kurt snaps, louder than intended. He’s wounded, and he has nothing to keep the anguish from seeping into his voice. The thought of Sebastian prowling Blaine’s social media, waiting in the wings for a chance to strike, turns Kurt’s stomach unpleasantly. Oh no, is that why he’s here? “The position has already been filled.”

For a second, Sebastian gawps at him like he’s just come out as straight. “He replaced you already? Damn. Well, believe it or not, that’s not why I asked anyway. Considering that the last time you saw me was at that proposal, which I partially choreographed, I figured that was a given.” Sebastian speaks drily, and now Kurt can add a little more guilt to the maelstrom of emotions currently battering him from the inside out. 

Kurt remembers that distinctly. It’s just much more difficult to remember that Sebastian right now - the Sebastian who apologised, who saw the error of his ways, who spent most of his junior year fundraising for the Born This Way Foundation, who put whatever disdain he held for Kurt to one side to help Blaine pop the question. Maybe it makes him vindictive, or spiteful, but he can’t help recalling other things first. Blaine, bedridden for weeks, needing surgery thanks to a weaponised slushie that was meant for Kurt. His previous visit to Scandals spent nursing a Shirley Temple and an ego bruised by watching his boyfriend dance with another guy. Finn, terrified of a falsified photograph damning his future before he’d even planned it. He has forgiven Sebastian for these things in theory, but they haven’t spoken to each other since. Accepting a handful of good deeds after all the harm he caused is one thing - actually perceiving him as a better person for it is another. Kurt never quite got there.

“Then what, pray tell, is keeping you here?” Kurt mutters, eyes fixed on his own knees as he smooths out non-existent wrinkles in his jeans. 

“Burning curiosity? Nostalgia?” Sebastian speaks like he’s trying the words on to see what fits best. There’s another pause, and although he can’t see it, Kurt can sense his impatience. “Either of those good enough for an actual answer?”

“If you have to ask whether seeing my ex of nearly four years with somebody else has something to do with my humiliating public restroom breakdown, you’re even more emotionally stunted than I thought.” Kurt wishes he had the energy to give his words some bite. He sounds like a petulant child, exhausted after throwing a tantrum.

“As refreshing as it is to have you taking out your relationship problems on me again, I’m pissed off too.” What? He has absolutely nothing to be pissed about here, as far as Kurt can see. He scowls at Sebastian, who wears a twisted wry smile. “No, really, I am. I busted my ass on that choreo for a holy union that didn’t even happen. I was rooting for it, too, even though I knew I wouldn’t be getting an invite. Seriously! If all my meddling didn’t ruin things for you guys, I may as well watch you two blossom into the ACLU’s hot new poster couple.”

Kurt’s scowl only deepens. “Well I’m sorry to disappoint, but it’s not happening. I think you’ve rubbed it in enough, don’t you?” 

“Again, not why I’m here. Well, strictly speaking, I came to pee-- but now, more than I need to relieve the ache in my bladder, I need to fill the gaps in my knowledge. ...What happened?” 

Kurt really doesn’t need to know some of that, but it’s not his disgust towards Sebastian’s bodily functions that baffles him. Through his general haughtiness, he actually seems confused. That makes two of us, Kurt thinks, resisting the urge to visibly shudder at the idea that they might experience any emotions in the same capacity. Still, the complete lack of malevolence is oddly reassuring, and as it couples with Kurt’s all-consuming need to stop feeling the way he is right now, he decides to answer honestly. His bubble has well and truly burst. 

“We just grew apart.” It’s a very concise way to describe months of bickering, yelling, and passive-aggressive redecorating. They had their better moments, but the fact that so much as Blaine forgetting to replace the toilet paper could leave the air in the loft feeling as toxic as Chernobyl had Kurt at his breaking point. So he broke, and he smashed up everything they were together on his way down. “We moved in together, just the two of us, and most of our friends had left the city. We were both busy and stressed out, which only ever makes me want to be busier, and by the time I ended things we hadn’t spent any real time together in weeks. Not without any fighting, at least. Whenever I tried to make time Blaine would be late, or he’d spend the whole time talking about wedding plans rather than about us. So… I started to resent it. The wedding.”

Kurt inhales deeply. He’s skirted through a million details, but even glossing over his personal problems with Sebastian Smythe of all people leaves him feeling increasingly out of place. Stranger still is the quiet that follows as Sebastian considers it all.

“So… Monogamy chewed you up and spat you out so far you landed back in Lima?” Sebastian’s synopsis of events isn’t ideal, and neither is the amusement its packaged in. “That kind of sob story makes me all the more glad that I’ve avoided it like the plague.”

There’s a quip on the tip of Kurt’s tongue about how Sebastian should be more concerned with dodging diseases of a venereal nature, but it dies a swift death when he realises he’s been camping out in the bathroom for god knows how long-- what if Blaine finds them like this? What if they’re out there thinking he’s pooping? Hell no. That’s the last thing he needs. He scrambles to his feet, adjusting his outfit accordingly and praying nothing’s stained. 

“Leaving so soon? I was starting to enjoy our little slumber party,” Sebastian says, with a sarcastic pout that would be childish on somebody half his age. Kurt rolls his eyes at the exaggerated woe in his voice but smiles despite himself. The look on his face is goofy enough to make Kurt feel like he’s in on the joke. 

“As wonderful as your company and the odour of this room has been, I’m expected back at my table to discuss Blaine’s newfound bear-lust and resist the urge to claw my own eyes out.” He steps towards the mirrors, grabbing some toilet paper to dab at his puffy eyes with. He grimaces at his reflection as he hears Sebastian taking the opportunity to actually pee. 

“What, you’re actually going to subject yourself to that?” Sebastian zips himself back up as he speaks. Kurt turns on his heel and cocks one eyebrow, because duh, he’s not exactly got a wide range of options to choose from. All Sebastian seems to get from it is a sense of challenge. “You don’t owe them anything, Kurt. You can just leave.” 

“No, I can't ‘just leave’, I’m not giving them that kind of ammo. They’ll know I was...” Kurt gestures vaguely towards his meltdown corner. He’s made his own patheticness obvious enough for one evening, he thinks. 

“Unless you come up with a good enough excuse,” Sebastian suggests like it’s the most obvious thing in the world - because of course deceit is his go-to strategy. How despicable. How deplorable. How… 

“Like what?” Kurt mutters because he knows he’s not actually above the occasional scheme; he’s just mad that he didn’t think of it first. He watches as Sebastian clocks his dubious expression and starts to look incredibly pleased with himself - worryingly so. Kurt isn’t graced with the time to worry about it, however, as Sebastian kicks himself off of the wall and slings an arm around his shoulder.

“Follow my lead, twinkletoes,” Sebastian proclaims as Kurt stumbles, bewildered, back into the bar. 

Gloria Gaynor’s _I Will Survive_ hits him like a brick wall of sound which Kurt is certain was written specifically to mock him at this moment; his feeble heart can’t handle the stress of it all. _That’s all well and good for you, Gloria. I, however, am speeding towards a fatal heart attack,_ Kurt thinks, as he scrabbles for the words to call off Sebastian’s charge. He hasn’t been in this kind of proximity with anybody for what feels like centuries - it’s become such an unfamiliar feeling that it throws him off completely.

They don’t get very far, but not of Kurt’s volition. Truly, of all the worst-case scenarios Kurt has concocted in his mind tonight, this is it, this is rock bottom. Sebastian seems to wholeheartedly agree - he stops dead in his tracks because Karofsky has chosen now of all times to take a trip to the bathroom, the absolute bastard, and he’s taking massive strides towards them that leave no time for damage control. 

“Kurt! And… Oh, wow, is that Sebastian?” He calls out as he draws closer, making Kurt feel as small as he would in the face of an actual grizzly. He chances a glance at Sebastian, who looks like he’s just had a car door slammed over his fingers. His eyes are too wide to be anything but painfully shocked. From this distance, Kurt can see he’s gritting his teeth and haphazardly disguising it as a grin.

“David Karofsky! I didn’t think you’d still be a regular here,” Sebastian greets him, though from the face he’s making Kurt can tell he’s biting back something closer to ‘_What in the everloving fuck are you doing here?!_’ Dave’s gaze is darting between Sebastian and the fingers now digging into Kurt’s shoulders like he’s connecting some dots because he doesn’t know that Kurt is only here to win Blaine back and Jesus Christ, Kurt needs to sit down, this is a fever dream. He misses his grotesque bathroom corner.

“I’m not, really,” Karofsky shrugs, still appraising the atmosphere between them. Kurt considers stomping on Sebastian’s foot just to get him to move, god damn it, but the weight of Sebastian bearing down on him leaves him feeling like a crutch. “Are you guys--”

“Leaving? Yeah, we are. I think Hummel here’s had one too many, so…” Sebastian pats Kurt’s shoulder a little too firmly, and that in combination with the lie has him ducking his head to save face. Kurt has no faith in it but, apparently, Dave wasn’t paying much attention to him earlier, because he doesn’t immediately question it. 

“So soon? I thought we’d have a little longer to catch up, but I guess that’s what I get for showing up late. Damn traffic.” Dave scoffs. Out of the corner of his eye, Kurt can see Sebastian’s budding confusion as he realises what Karofsky is here for. “Guess I’ll go tell Blaine-- do you guys need a ride?”

Sebastian doesn’t miss a beat, but his grip on Kurt tightens like a vice, and he can only surmise that they’re now equally aware of what a shitshow this is. “No, no, I’m stone-cold sober. I’ll take it from here.” Sebastian assures him, moving to guide Kurt along his original warpath. Kurt looks back to chirp out a goodbye as drunk-sounding as he can make it, but Karofsky winks at him, and by the time they’ve reached the door Kurt has half a mind to kick Sebastian through it. 

The night air is as icy as the glare Kurt fixes on Sebastian once they’re away from prying, judging eyes, but the white-hot shame building up in his gut keeps him nice and toasty. Sebastian’s arm leaves his shoulder as soon as the door swings shut behind them, depriving Kurt of the opportunity to hurl him across the dimly-lit parking lot.

“‘Follow my lead,’ huh? If I’d have known you were leading me straight to total ruin, I would’ve stuck with the urinals instead!” 

“Hey, I got you out of there didn’t I? And you didn’t exactly warn me about the Ursa Major roadblock! I thought on my feet--”

“Your stupid feet just stepped in it!” Kurt cuts him off, and with a hefty sigh, sits himself down on the curb. He’s beyond caring about staining his clothes now, which really goes to show what a disaster his mission to win Blaine back has dissolved into. He buries his head in his hands for a moment of respite, welcoming the seconds of silence that follows. 

What’s Dave thinking in there? He looked so smug, like he’d been let in on a dirty secret, and that wink… He doesn’t even want to imagine what he’s telling Blaine, who definitely knows Kurt hasn’t been drinking, and--

“He seriously went for Karofsky?” Sebastian, who is still there for some reason, interrupts Kurt’s thoughts as he seats himself a foot away. Kurt side-eyes him, unmoving and grouchy. “God, that’s the kind of image I’ll have to drink to forget. It’s like David hooking up with Goliath…”

Before he can stop himself, Kurt laughs into the palms of his hands. It’s stupid, and he’s not even sure if it qualifies as a joke, but the pettiest parts of himself are simply thrilled to hear that somebody else thinks they look ridiculous together. He’s not proud of those thoughts, but he’s not above them either - he’s upset and bitter, and still addled by the shock of it all. The giddy ache in his abdomen feels better than that squeezing sensation in his chest from before, so he lets it take over for as long as it feels right. 

As his case of the giggles dissipates, he glances furtively to his right, trapped in a liminal space between exasperation and amusement that he’s far too drained to navigate. Sebastian looks oddly normal now in a way he never has before, smiling sheepishly at his shoes, bathed in the amber glow of streetlights overhead. Perhaps it’s the unfamiliar lighting, or perhaps it’s the bigger problems he’s faced since high school, but Kurt can’t find it in himself to feel threatened by him now. He has plenty to be belligerent about - their tempestuous history, Sebastian’s everlasting affinity for snark, and the fires he’ll have to put out with Blaine and Karofsky - but it’s so much easier to breathe out here, and even if the exit was messy, he’s grateful for it. As much as he may loathe to admit it, he knows he would have subjected himself to several hours of emotional torture without Sebastian’s intervening. His pride wouldn’t have let him walk away from the happy couple with his tail between his legs, so obviously wounded and pathetic. 

“Thanks, Sebastian,” Kurt says - for what, exactly, he’s not sure. The not-so-great escape? The first laugh he’s really felt in weeks? The fact that he’s not the only one sitting at the edge of the sidewalk like a total weirdo? It all gathers in his throat, staving off his Smythe-related grievances new and old, and softens his voice. “You know, you don’t have to stick around for my wallowing. I can’t imagine it was a pity party you were planning to attend tonight.”

“Plans change.” Sebastian shrugs, rather than making the hasty getaway Kurt expects. He simply raises a brow in question, and the cocky lilt to Sebastian’s voice begins to waver. “What can I say? I’ve grown a conscience-- or maybe it’s just a masochistic streak that makes me want to hang around miserable people and repent for being a total douchebag in high school.” 

He sounds like he could be joking, but he finishes much quieter than he started and begins to worry his lower lip between his teeth. It occurs to Kurt that being dragged across Scandals might have been Sebastian’s own cryptic version of an apology. He’s making a valiant effort to reconcile that with the things he already knows about Sebastian Smythe when the man in question abruptly stands.

“Right. There’s an awful lot of pity going on, but not a lot of party - I think we can change that.” Sebastian declares, and Kurt doesn’t miss the ‘we’ of it. Apparently, his own personal woes are now a group activity - a fact he might resist a little more vocally if it weren’t for the distractingly mischievous gleam in Sebastian’s eyes. 

“What did you have in mind?”

“Well, from what I can see, you have two options, Hummel. Number 1: you can go home, blast some Carole King, curl up in a ball, binge on an ungodly amount of junk food and, oh I don’t know, Downton Abbey? I’m just guessing at your usual routine here--”

“Golden Girls, actually,” Kurt corrects him curtly, a little disturbed by Sebastian’s otherwise accurate assumptions.

“Semantics. Maggie Smith is pretty golden herself-- I digress. Number 2: we go back to my place, get wasted, maybe bitch a little about the Hobbit, and you take a break from all those pesky feelings. Consider it community service on my part.” Sebastian finishes his pitch with a flourish, extending a hand to pull Kurt up with, should he choose to take it. His focus darts between it and Sebastian’s eyes, which shine with an emerald-tinged challenge. It’s a matter of convenience, Kurt thinks - they each have something they want to stop feeling. It’s not his usual style, but he’s tried just about everything else to soothe his heartache, and at this point, he’s so desperate to feel like himself again that he’ll take it however it comes - even at the bottom of a bottle. 

Kurt takes the hand he’s being offered, and with one firm tug, finds himself on his feet. He lets go immediately, not giving himself a chance to dwell on how much he’s missed holding another hand in his own. He folds his arms tightly in an attempt to maintain a semblance of dignity. Sebastian’s smirk is back in full force regardless; he knows exactly which option Kurt’s going for.

“You’ll have to give me directions. You’re definitely not driving my stepmom’s car, and I refuse to leave it here overnight to ride in yours.” 

“Just leave it to me,” Sebastian gestures for Kurt to lead the way, “I’ll have you know the S in GPS stands for Sebastian.”

Kurt hides his snort in his search for his keys.

* * *

The S in GPS most definitely does not stand for Sebastian. In Kurt’s mind, it starts to stand for Stop, for the love of God please stop, about twenty minutes into their journey. Kurt would have stopped to consider why, exactly, he elected to give Sebastian Smythe of all people a ride home, but he’s preoccupied with the task of not getting them both killed. They spend a weird few minutes attempting small talk about the weather, but intermittent bickering begins to pass the time before too long:

“Go left here.”

“Left? I don’t see a turning...”

“You will in a minute.”

“Then why not wait a minute, and--”

“We’ve missed it now!”

“You-- That was a right turn, you absolute...”

Kurt takes a few jabs at Sebastian’s terrible navigating, and Sebastian takes some (totally uncalled for, thank you very much) digs at Kurt’s driving. It’s aggravating, but balanced.

Thankfully, they make it to Columbus without any major incidents, and far quicker than Kurt would have imagined. The roads being empty and Sebastian knowing a few shortcuts helps - even if he’s awful at communicating them. Despite that, all of Kurt’s frustrations evaporate when they’re out of the car, and Sebastian points out their destination.

He knows Sebastian comes from a wealthy background - if the attitude wasn’t proof enough, his time at Dalton would have been - but as they exit the car and walk through the gate, Kurt can’t believe anybody actually lives like this. Anybody who owns a house with a gate that is taller than Kurt Hummel is unreasonably loaded, as far as Kurt Hummel is concerned. The sight leaves him speechless.

The vast green lawn spreading out from either side of them is bordered by a hedgerow so immaculate that he wants to find a fault in it, as much as he wants to see how far back it stretches. The house itself blocks the full view, and Kurt finds it to be surprisingly understated, considering the building’s size. There’s no-nonsense adorning the tall white walls or cluttering up the veranda that wraps around the house, and the slate grey roof complements it all rather nicely. If he squints, he can see that the upper floor hosts a balcony which looks divine in the moonlight. Somehow, Kurt can picture himself perched out there as the sun sets, a magazine in his hands as he waits for some tea to cool down. He feels welcomed and dwarfed by the place all at once - everything about it is sanitised, but it still manages to look homey. It’s the size of the garage, though, that makes his jaw drop. He can only imagine what’s in there. He’s in a total trance up until the sound of Sebastian’s keys jingling snaps him out of it.

“Who are you living with, exactly? Gatsby himself?” Kurt asks, unable to tear his eyes from the building. Even in the dark, it’s stunning, down to the tiniest detail. He can’t tell if the knocker is brass or bronze, but he knows the door is mahogany.

“Of course not. We’re East Egg people if anything.” Sebastian answers smugly, giving the key a slow twist in the lock. He keeps his words hushed, crouching over the handle like he’s got a secret to keep there, and Kurt spots his tongue poking out between his lips. The door lets out a click, softened by the slow concentration Sebastian tugs it open with.

“Are we seriously sneaking in right now?” Kurt tries to sound aloof, he feels like he should, but he can’t deny the thrill of it - especially not when it slips into his voice like that. “I feel like a teenager…”

“I figure we’re old enough to start doing stupid things to feel young. Keep your voice down, and we might actually manage it.” Sebastian steps inside, beckoning impatiently for Kurt to follow. He complies, biting at his lower lip to keep the laughter at bay. Sebastian Smythe, devil incarnate, looks as juvenile as a man in his twenties physically can as he slinks across the hardwood flooring. 

Kurt could dawdle in the foyer, running his hands along the smooth-looking bannisters leading up the staircase, or check out some of the art hanging on the walls - but he doesn’t want to get too caught up in the allure of the house. Sebastian’s brought him here as some sort of joke, obviously, or as a charity case he can use to absolve any lingering guilt from high school; it would be wiser to avoid developing a fondness for anything. Kurt’s in it purely for the chance to forget about everything else for a little while, fancy furniture be damned. 

Another muted click and a slow pull from Sebastian opens another door once Kurt catches up, revealing another set of stairs. This one leads downwards, and even if he strains his eyes Kurt can’t see where it ends. 

He raises an eyebrow when Sebastian gestures for him to go first, down into the sketchy-at-best basement of a house he’s never set foot in before. Yeah, he doesn’t think so. “Literally nobody who isn’t a serial killer has a staircase like this.”

“Is that so?” Sebastian rolls his eyes and takes the first step down. “I’ll have to ask dad where he keeps the bodies.”

It doesn’t take him so much as a second to find the light switch. As the room illuminates, Kurt isn’t even remotely surprised; of course the Smythe’s splurged on a fully stocked basement-bar. The pair of leather couches towards the back look plush and inviting, and the pool table in the centre of the room is innocuous enough - although the cues might make acceptable weapons in a pinch. Aside from that, the colourful bottles lining the shelves behind the bar are the only thing that might pose a threat. The fact that he’s so inclined to search for risks makes Kurt rethink the choices he’s made tonight.

No - he’s questioned himself enough already. Sebastian swept him up into this plan, and if there’s a chance he can spend a few hours thinking about anything other than his problems, he’ll let go for now. Maybe. 

Sebastian slips behind the bar with a level of familiarity that Kurt isn’t surprised by; this seems like the sort of place he would spend a lot of time in. He knows very little about Sebastian aside from his habitual partying, after all. 

He keeps his back turned to Kurt as he peruses the bottles on display. He settles on a long square one, half-full of what looks like whisky, before grabbing a tumbler in his free hand. “So, what’s your poison? I’m presuming you’ve moved on from Shirley Temples by now.” 

Of course, Kurt remembers that stupid drink, and the stupid extra cherries, and the stupid fact that he actually quite liked the taste of it. It seems all of these weird, terrible nights have to start at Scandals. “I have,” he confirms, although the number of options he has is a tad intimidating. “I’m still not a big drinker. As long as it’s not Chablis… Feel free to surprise me.”

“Chablis?” Sebastian echoes, as he drops two ice cubes in the glass. He unscrews the bottle’s lid, pouring some of the amber liquid over them before sliding it across the bar, towards Kurt. “How specific. I feel like there’s a story there.” 

“Let’s just say that I got some terrible advice from a woman who should absolutely not be allowed within 1000 feet of any high school. I’m pretty sure she called it ‘French courage.’” He admits, scrunching his nose at the memory. Sebastian knows there’s more to the story than that, and Kurt can tell; he can also tell he won’t get away with not sharing it under Sebastian’s scrutinising gaze. He doesn’t look away as he pours his own drink. “I may or may not have traumatised McKinley’s guidance counsellor à la Linda Blair.”

Sebastian smirks - it doesn’t give Kurt the same chills it did in high school, but it still makes him apprehensive. “I’ve never actually attended a public school,” Sebastian takes a long sip, “but that is exactly what I always imagined. Thanks for that validation.” 

“It was a one-off!” Kurt insists, taking a hesitant sip of his own. Immediately, he regrets it. He winces at the bitter flavour and the burn that tears down his throat, but he swallows like the champ he is. “Eugh,” he splutters, once it settles as a warmth in his stomach. “Speaking of one-offs, I don’t think I’ll ever be ordering this in a real bar.”

“You’ll never drown your sorrows with that attitude.” Sebastian tuts, his lips still caught in an arrogant twist. “Maybe we’ll just have to keep going until we find something you can handle.” 

Kurt doesn’t like his tone, and he doesn’t enjoy being looked at like he’s still that vulnerable high school boy, full of self-doubt. He tips his head back and the glass follows, drained of its contents all at once. Perhaps he sets the glass back down on the bar a little more dramatically than necessary, but Kurt is nothing if not a performer. When he looks up, Sebastian’s grin is wolfish, like he’s gotten exactly what he wanted.

“That’s more like it!” He says, before following Kurt’s lead. With the whisky polished off, Sebastian immediately turns to make another selection. “Go and sit down, will you? I don’t want to play bartender all night.” Kurt complies, mainly so he can sink into the luxury of the couch.

Rum, Kurt decides, is better than whisky - but not by much. The sting is shorter and sharper, but the hint of spice is actually rather pleasant if he lets it sit on his tongue. It’s even more tolerable when Sebastian mixes it with coke, but he doesn’t want to expose his body to more sugar than necessary, so he won’t stick to this drink forever. Still, there’s a certain satisfaction in watching Sebastian bring it over, like some kind of waiter.

“You know, I actually have no idea what you’re doing here. I mean, why stick around in Ohio?” Kurt asks while Sebastian descends upon the other couch with an annoying amount of grace and a refilled glass of his own. He brings his feet up onto the leather beside him, and Kurt can’t ignore that. “Blaine mentioned that you grew up in Paris, but now I’m more convinced you were born in a barn.” He scoffs, with a pointed look at Sebastian’s sneakers. Kurt can’t imagine coming from such an affluent background, only to own the world’s most basic shoes and rub them all over the furniture. 

Sebastian stiffens, for reasons Kurt can’t pinpoint. He shifts so his soles are pressed against the material, and Kurt is almost certain it’s just for the sake of being petty. “My barn, my rules.” He punctuates his answer with a sip and a sly grin. “And I don’t think my upbringing is the most interesting thing we could be talking about here. What about you? Surely you didn’t travel all this way just to grovel at your taken ex’s feet?”

Kurt feels an uncomfortable twist in his stomach. His tone isn’t overtly cruel, but the fact that he’s right makes Kurt anxious. One mention of Blaine, and suddenly all the strength he’s found within himself since high school is dashed in an instant. Would Sebastian seriously bring him all the way to his family’s home to make fun of him? He seemed to genuinely want to help at Scandals - was he stupid for believing it?

“Hey,” Sebastian speaks up again, no longer looking quite so pleased with himself. It snaps Kurt out of his turmoil, “I’m not actively trying to be an asshole, for once, but I get why you’d still think that - the sarcasm thing is pretty much incurable. ...Sorry.” 

He makes apologising sound painful. He’s heard Sebastian say ‘sorry’ exactly twice since the day they met, and he wonders if it would be wiser to be doubtful - but he just isn’t. Kurt believes him, even though a part of him feels like he shouldn’t. 

“Well…” He huffs out a sigh, delaying the inevitable with a large gulp of his drink. If Sebastian can make that effort to put him at ease, he can at least be honest. “That was it, to start with. New York is amazing, but it’s surprisingly easy to feel lonely in that crowd. I need an internship for my final year of college, and Rachel’s finally come out of hiding to reboot the New Directions - somebody needs to keep her in check, or she’ll scare off all her recruits.” 

Sebastian’s eyes light up with mirth. “Well, if I’d been part of a show as abysmal as hers, I would’ve evicted myself from society too - out of respect for everybody who made the mistake of watching it.”

Kurt bites his lip. He shouldn’t be laughing at his friend, he really shouldn’t, but it’s too much-- the writing, the canned laughter, the awful cast… “It was hideous, wasn’t it? I wouldn’t have minded having a character based on me, but did they have to call him Cert?” He wonders if he ought to feel guilty for badmouthing it, but truthfully, he resents Rachel for disappearing for months, without so much as a word. He really could have used a friend back then.

“At least they cast your doppelgänger to play him,” Sebastian teases, too playfully for Kurt to actually take any offence. Instead of dignifying it with an actual response he picks up the nearest cushion and hits Sebastian square in the face with it. 

The tension seems to dissolve from there. Kurt doesn’t know if it's the alcohol, or his own desperation to stop stressing about everything, but suddenly he’s running his mouth about all the ridiculous crap Rachel pulled in New York. She had a hard time over the past year - they both did - but he’s tipsy, and craving some kind of retribution for being ignored for so long. By the time he gets around to Midnight Madness he’s polished off a vodka cranberry, (something he’s tried before, but Sebastian insists it’s a necessary stop on the whistle-stop tour of the bar they’re taking) a shot of tequila, (gross. Just gross.) and something blue that tastes like oranges (he’s too amazed by the flavour to recall its name). 

Kurt can’t remember when he decided to lay down, but he at least had the decency to kick his shoes off first. He’s not sure where they landed, but it’s the principle that matters. Sebastian, who still refuses to give his sofa that same respect, is smiling at the ceiling. 

“So the rumours were true! She really is a nightmare, that’s good to know. I’m surprised you all managed to fit on stage alongside that ego…” He trails off, his expression morphing until he looks pensive. “There’s one thing I really don’t get, though. I was told you left Dalton, by choice, to go back to that. Why? You were good enough to get full solos with the Warblers.”

He can’t guess what kind of response he might get if he starts talking about Karofsky again, given how agitated he seemed by the sight of him at Scandals. Light, easy, and teasing is the safest way for them to talk, and Kurt only hopes that he can keep things that way. “I got a line at nationals, thank you very much,” Kurt says defiantly, although once it’s out there it doesn’t seem quite as exciting as it felt at the time. 

“Oh wow, excuse me. I forgot I was in the presence of show choir royalty.” Yes, sarcastic quips definitely fit Sebastian much better than prying questions about Kurt’s high school drama. 

The drinks in Kurt’s system embolden him somewhat, and he starts to feel a little smug. “Well, you said it yourself. I was good-- No, screw that. I am good. I wouldn’t have expected you to know that, though.”

Sebastian shrugs and takes a moment to collect both of their empty glasses, and Kurt decides he’ll accept whatever beverage comes his way next without question. When he shuts his eyes he feels like he might be spinning, but when he opens them it’s clear he hasn’t moved an inch. Fascinating. 

“I came to your Sectionals, didn’t I? I was very proud of myself for staying silent while you guys collectively flipped off the king of pop.” Although he’s too comfortable to peek over the back of the couch and check, he thinks he can hear a bottle cap falling to the ground. “Honestly, most of it was pretty forgettable. Oh-- Except for how pissed off you looked when you saw me in the audience. Priceless.”

Kurt remembers that moment all too well, although the closest he can get to replicating that anger now is a grumpy pout. At least it served as the perfect motivation to kill it on that stage. “Can you blame me? I knew you were there to drool all over my boyfriend… Anybody would’ve been pissed.” He wants to fold his arms, but Sebastian suddenly appears beside him offering another glass of god-knows-what, and that’s far more important.

Sebastian looks amused. Kurt puts it down to the fact he actually swore, but he can’t help the booze loosening his tongue. “Of course you’d think that. Everybody thought that. I was his replacement - everybody wanted me to be exactly like him, and there was no way I’d pull that off without ever seeing him perform for myself. I was expecting to be impressed, I’ll give you that, but all that hype didn’t really work in his favour.”

Oh, wow. Being tipsy (he’s totally only tipsy) might be making Kurt a bad person - it shouldn’t feel good to hear anybody suggest Blaine was overrated back then. Truthfully, he doesn’t miss living in that shadow. He’s never thought about how it would have felt to step into it with the Warblers as Sebastian did. 

“You weren’t anything like him, though. The whole group changed, you were all…”

“Actually dancing?” Kurt might have worded it more delicately, but he’s not wrong. “Yeah, that was very much a deliberate choice. Fuck, it took forever to convince those guys that synchronised walking doesn’t count as choreography.”

Kurt snorts, very nearly choking on a mouthful of whatever it is they’re drinking now. It’s bitter, with a sweet bubbly aftertaste that tells Kurt it’s mixed with lemonade. Sugar. He should be worrying about that, right? No, he’s too busy being overwhelmed by memories of the more painful Warbler rehearsals he endured. He’s not at his most eloquent right now but Sebastian seems to be fully in agreement, and his time is far better spent taking sips than forcing himself to think of longer words. “I remember that. All of those tacky routines… They sucked.” 

“God, that’s weird. I waited for fucking years to hear literally anybody admit that that guy has a single flaw, and finally… It comes from you, of all people.” Sebastian’s frustration is obvious through his smile; Kurt feels awful for understanding that feeling. He loves Blaine - he always will - but no relationship is perfect, and the fact that it’s over makes it too easy to dwell on all the little things that made him bitter enough to end it. Kurt bites his lip; he’s afraid that giving in to those grudges will force him to admit things he’s not ready to admit. He’s sternly avoiding eye contact, and it doesn’t go unnoticed. “You’re allowed to not like everything about him, Kurt. I promise he’s not hiding around the corner or some shit.”

Kurt rolls his eyes. He shouldn’t have expected Sebastian to understand everything he’s trying to hold on to - he made it very clear when they first met that he doesn’t value those things. “You wouldn’t understand. I screwed things up between us, it’s not my place to pretend otherwise.”

“Oh, please. As if there’s not one thing you’d change about him, that you know is never going to change.” Sebastian mumbles, and if he’s trying to mask the mockery, he’s doing a terrible job. Again, Kurt feels like he’s being challenged, and he’s never been able to resist that. 

“He’s short.” 

Sebastian starts, hastily swallowing the last of his drink. “Excuse me?”

Kurt hesitates, but now he’s put himself on the spot. “I never saw myself ending up with a guy that short. It didn’t really bother me, but...” He drains his glass once again - maybe it’ll wash away the feeling that he’s doing something wrong. If it works, maybe he won’t have to admit that it felt good to say it. Sebastian chuckles, the sound low and rumbling, which is rather distracting. It’s also the first real sign, for Kurt, he’s not the only one feeling the alcohol. “What? You asked!”

“I’m not laughing at you, relax.” Sebastian leans back with his hands behind his head, radiating cockiness. “I agree, actually. My personal cut-off point has always been about 5′8″ - no ass is worth me giving myself a hunch.” 

Kurt might have laughed if literally anybody else had told him that. “Then why?” He asks, more curious than anything. It’s exasperating, mostly because less than 24 hours ago he considered himself over all things Smythe, and now it’s all he can think about. “Why’d you go after him like that?”

The glass in his hand is almost empty, but Sebastian stares into it resolutely. “I was young, angry, and bored.” As foggy as Kurt’s mind has become, he can tell this is something he’s thought about before - he reminds Kurt of an actor at his first off-book rehearsal. “Well, maybe it’s a bit more complicated than that. For one thing, I had everybody at Dalton breathing down my neck. To begin with, it was more about stealing him from McKinley than stealing him from you. I knew about you,” he admits, “but not because of Blaine. He kept you a secret right up until I met you, and that made me think he was unhappy. I saw an opening there to get him to transfer back.”

Kurt doesn’t want to believe that, but Sebastian chooses that moment to meet his eyes, and there’s no real choice in the matter. It seems Blaine wasn’t very transparent to start with, but Kurt can’t hold that against him now, right? He never wanted to hurt Kurt. Still, Sebastian doesn’t quite make sense to him. “And then… Attacking him like that, was that the anger?” 

“It was all anger.” He murmurs, too sheepish for Kurt to be comfortable with it. “Once you really stepped into the picture, it all started feeling like a competition. That eased the boredom for a little bit - until you won. Everything after that night at Scandals was me picking new fights.”

How is he meant to process this, exactly? Young, angry, and bored. Was that all it took? Kurt was all three of those things back then, but he never resorted to anything as dire as assault. 

“I regret it all.” He adds, straightening his back. “That’s probably not enough, and I’m not trying to make any excuses… But I regret it. Fuck, this is messed up.” Sebastian rakes a hand through his hair, and Kurt can’t tell if it’s down to stress or bewilderment. “If I were you, I wouldn’t be hearing me out like this-- but here you are.”

“Here I am,” Kurt agrees with a slow, dazed nod. This is exactly the kind of seriousness he wanted to avoid, but it’s out now. Sebastian looks… Vulnerable, actually, and that’s more frightening than the thought of him acting like that same chauvinistic asshole from Kurt’s senior year. Kurt stands up, (wow, he’s dizzy - should he be this dizzy?) and sets his hands on his hips. “I’m here,” he continues, “and this is probably the most expensive building I’ve ever been in, and I’m going to make the most of it. Fuck high school, fuck everything that happened in high school-- I want to play pool.” 

Sebastian blinks once, twice, and then rises to his feet. A smirk spreads across his face, and he grabs two of the cues hanging on the wall, extending one towards Kurt. 

“Alright then. Prepare to lose, Hummel.”


	2. ...Too Many Steps Back To Count

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after the night before, and the night after that; in which Kurt Hummel has no idea what he's doing anymore.
> 
> [Mentions of Finn's death within this chapter.]

Everything is spinning. The room makes two full turns before Kurt even tries to open his eyes, and when he does, the harsh lighting overhead makes a very good case for keeping them shut - possibly forever. 

Yeah, he could happily spend forever here, on this couch, in the basement. Sebastian Smythe’s basement.

_ Crap. _

In an attempt to stave off the anxiety of waking up in an unfamiliar-at-best territory, Kurt takes a deep breath and assesses his situation. It’s fine, it’s alright, controllable - every problem has a solution. His head feels like it’s under a hydraulic press and his eyes are so dry he worries that he might have slept with them wide open, but those issues are fixable with enough water and some alone time with his noise-cancelling headphones. He feels shaky, but the room is freezing - all he needs to do is warm himself up. A crick in his neck makes itself apparent when he rolls onto his side, but as painful as that is, there’s a cheap mattress gathering dust in Bushwick that has prepared him for moments like this. He could solve it with a few simple stretches, but the nausea swirling in his gut makes that feel like a bad idea. He hasn’t felt this sick since...

Well, since last night. Kurt decides he’s never going back to Scandals again, seeing as the place is clearly cursed. It’s a bewitched venue that makes people act outside of themselves - it’s where Blaine lost his patience for Kurt’s boundaries years ago, where he started dating Karofsky, where Sebastian invited Kurt over, and where Kurt accepted that invitation. The world turns on its head in that corner of West Lima. Why else would he have ended up here?

It takes an unreasonable amount of effort for Kurt to pull himself upright, and the gruelling process kickstarts his stomach in a series of somersaults that he certainly didn’t approve. A blanket pools at his waist, still protecting his legs from the frigid air, although he’s too busy being grateful for its presence to think about how it got there. 

Eventually, he forces himself to tear the blanket away (he folds it before he puts it to one side, of course, he’s not a heathen) and rise to his feet. Every step feels like a slap to the brain. 

He trudges up the stairs, and the movement makes him aware of the uniquely awful sensation of sweat coating his legs, the repugnant kind that only sleeping in jeans can induce. At least there are some perks to falling asleep in his clothes - it’ll be much easier to make a discreet exit, and he has everything he needs tucked away in his pockets. Keys, wallet, phone--  _ Shit.  _ His phone is dead. He’s in the middle of Columbus with a dead phone and no real idea of how to get home, except to drive north-west and pray. Scratch that; he doesn’t even remember how to get out of this building. Damn the bourgeoisie and their massive, beautiful homes.

Kurt hears a familiar voice humming bits and pieces of a melody (it’s definitely Beyonce’s _ Sweet Dreams _ , he’d know that refrain anywhere) as he shuts the door behind him. He can trace the sound all the way to the archway at the end of the hall, which he doesn’t remember seeing last night. The problem is, he doesn’t remember anything he can see in the other direction either. He really doesn’t want to have to ask Sebastian for the way out, but getting lost or running into another rogue Smythe sounds equally unappealing. 

He should say something before he leaves though, shouldn’t he? Isn’t that the decent thing to do? When he thinks back, he has to admit Sebastian was far less of an asshole than he could have been last night - for the parts he remembers. The conversation he can recall wasn’t agonising once the drinking began; if anything it was too easy, too open, too honest, which inspires a different sort of dread than he’s used to feeling with Sebastian on the brain.  _ Regret _ . That’s a word Kurt never would have expected to hear him say. The last time he saw Sebastian act even remotely humble it took somebody nearly dying to get him there, and even that had felt stiff, like a means to an end. Yesterday was different. He had nothing to gain out of anything he did or said, not really, but Kurt’s sure he had some kind of angle. He must have; he’s still Sebastian at his core, there’s no changing that, even if he’s developed an affinity for remorse. He can faintly hear Sebastian saying something about repenting, easing his guilt, and… Kurt’s head hurts. He can’t keep thinking himself in circles like this. 

Only when he starts wishing for a pair of ruby heels to tap together does he remember something far more important than dodging an inopportune encounter - his parents expected him home yesterday, and they have no clue where he is. He can only assume they’ve come to the worst possible conclusions, given the past few years they’ve had as a family. They’ve already seen Kurt hospitalised, and Finn… 

He feels a tight squeeze of guilt and immediately heads towards the music. 

He peeks his head around the corner and wow, okay, somebody made his dream kitchen. Sleek, spotless, and open-plan, with a stylish monochrome palette any of his coworkers at Vogue would gush over. Kurt knows this because he would absolutely start that conversation, and maybe a blog solely dedicated to appreciating the gigantic spice rack lining the furthest wall. Still, he doesn’t have time to admire any of it; Sebastian’s stood over the stove, clad in sweats and looming over a frying pan, and Kurt needs to bite the bullet already. 

“I need a phone charger,” he says abruptly, in lieu of an actual greeting. 

“Hello, Sebastian! Good morning, Sebastian! Thanks for letting me crash here, Sebastian!” Says Sebastian, in a pitch much higher than his natural voice. He doesn’t bother turning to face Kurt. Whatever he’s cooking smells divine, so much so that Kurt’s stomach takes a break from turning itself inside out to let him know he’s absolutely starving. 

Kurt reminds himself to remain unimpressed. He still has no real idea what he’s up against now. “If that was supposed to be an impression of me, it was terrible. And off-key.”

“Your manners are off-key,” Sebastian counters. 

Annoyingly, he does have a point. If the issue wasn’t so pressing he might have danced around it a little first, but every second that ticks by is another his dad spends worrying and that won’t do. 

Kurt sighs, forcing the pride out of his body with it. “Thank you, for letting me stay over. And… Sorry. I just really need to let my dad know I still have all my limbs attached.” Awkward. Tense. ...Hungry _ . Are those pancakes? _

Sebastian glances over his shoulder, at which point he seems to pick up on Kurt’s urgency and lets out a similar sigh. “By the toaster.” 

Kurt makes a beeline towards it. As soon as he’s certain his phone is plugged in, (thank god it fits) he groans and wipes his hands down his face. He can feel bags and dark circles threatening to form under his eyes without even having to look - that’s an extra twenty minutes tacked onto his moisturising routine tonight. 

“How do you feel?” Sebastian asks, and Kurt is convinced it’s only for the sake of rubbing the answer in. He’s always been unfairly susceptible to hangovers, and it doesn’t take a genius to tell when he’s powering through one. There’s no doubt that he’s sporting all the usual signs - messy hair, weary eyes, and a general aura of crankiness. Sebastian, annoyingly, looks fine, freshly showered and embracing the morning. 

“Like the human version of a car crash,” Kurt answers, moving his hands to clutch at his stomach. The hunger and nausea have decided to team up against him, and his own body is added to the ever-growing list of traitors in his life, right under David Karofsky. 

“You look it, too,” Sebastian says, which sets Kurt at ease more than it offends him - lame, cheap shots are exactly what he expects. If they’re easing back into their usual pattern of catty, surface-level back-and-forths, well, that suits Kurt’s morning-after huffiness just fine. “Do me a favour and turn that kettle on.” 

“If you’re this chipper after drinking as much as I did, it just means all the carnage is on the inside. Not that you’d have to worry about that,” Kurt grumbles, flicking the switch as requested. “I’m pretty sure that’s a Rolex you’ve paired with those sweatpants; anybody that shameless wouldn’t have any moral quandaries sourcing a replacement liver on the black market.” 

“You’re just mad that I could actually afford one, and that I can handle my booze - you’re the one who nearly broke the pool table,” Sebastian tells him smugly. 

Kurt pales. It might not be visible with his complexion, but he feels it. “I did what?”

“Ah, it’s always the lightweights who lose their memory first… I remember that.” Sebastian says, and Kurt can’t tell if he’s being patronising or playful. “You were the one who insisted we played, but you neglected to tell me you had no idea how.” 

“I know how to play pool,” Kurt protests, trying (and failing) to remember the rules. 

“You do now. You weren’t a very attentive student, you know - I’m pretty sure at one point you were trying to hold the cue like a giant pen.” 

“And that damaged the table?” 

“No - that came a little later, when you were teaching me how to twirl it like a baton.” Sebastian’s smirk grows as Kurt winces. He never completely perfected that particular skill - he’ll stick to his sai, they’re cooler anyway. Sebastian laughs openly at his grimace, and it’s still a sound Kurt doesn’t know what to do with. Anything he comes out with that isn’t a flat-out insult is more than Kurt can process in his current state. “It was a trade of invaluable life skills if you ask me.”

“Oh god, why do I always forget doing the stupidest things? Is it my brain trying to protect me?” Kurt whines.

“It sounds like you’re missing out on all the fun to me.” Sebastian shrugs, glancing between his pan and the now boiling kettle fervently. “Keep an eye on this for a sec,” he says, tilting the handle in Kurt’s direction. It’s just as well that it doesn’t sound like a request, because Kurt doesn’t get a chance to say no - Sebastian steps away and starts rummaging through cabinets, forcing Kurt to supervise his handiwork. 

Now that he’s in charge of it, Kurt can see that it’s not the kind of pancake he’s used to. It’s thinner, paler, and almost making him drool.

“You’re making crepes?” Kurt asks, gawking at the cooking mixture in fascination. He’s made attempts at home, but they’re always too thick to call crepes, or too thin to flip without tearing. Somehow, Sebastian has perfected it.  _ Bastard.  _

“It looks to me like  _ you’re _ making crepes,” Sebastian replies, with a pointed glance at Kurt’s grip on the handle. Kurt makes sure he sees his eyes rolling, and watches as Sebastian carries a steaming mug over to the breakfast bar. He sets it down and rounds the countertop, taking the pan back off of Kurt. Sebastian’s fingers brush against his wrist for less than a second, but it’s enough for Kurt to feel a jolt of fear and quickly withdraw. If Sebastian notices his apprehension, he doesn’t react beyond a quizzical look. “You should check the fridge. I’ve got no idea what you want on this thing.”

Kurt stares at him blankly, for a little bit too long. “It’s for me?” 

Sebastian turns the stove off, turning his back on Kurt again to grab a plate. “I mean, I can eat it if you don’t want it - although it’s a little early for lunch…”

“No!” Kurt exclaims, louder than he would like to admit. He clears his throat, “I’m starving, actually. I just wasn’t expecting… Any of this.” Really, it could have been anyone and he would have been surprised. When was the last time somebody made Kurt breakfast or cooked for him at all? Blaine’s breakfast in bed stint stopped shortly after his run-in with the freshman fifteen and he’s been cooking dinner every night since he moved back home; it makes him feel better about not paying rent for his old room, at his parents’ insistence. 

He opens the fridge, eagerly spying the selection of berries inside. Kurt picks up the strawberries, blueberries, and some whipped cream because it’s been  _ that _ kind of week. When he brings it over to the table, Sebastian makes a face at the can. 

“This came from  _ your  _ fridge, you know,” Kurt says in its defence. 

“That doesn’t mean I put it there. I, for one, am staunchly against the American agenda of forcing innocent dairy products into aerosols. Don’t even get me started on ‘ _ cheese whiz _ ’...” Sebastian retorts, setting the full plate beside the mug - the contempt in his voice clashes with the gesture. Kurt feels like he’s slipped into another dimension when he looks at it, but he’s desperate to eat despite how queasy he feels. He hops onto a stool, applying a generous amount of the cream across his crepe and trying not to laugh at Sebastian’s visual revulsion. Once he’s done being grossed out, he adds, “Drink the tea first. It’s ginger, it’ll settle your stomach.”

Kurt takes a timid sip, savouring the warmth more than the flavour. It’s no grande nonfat mocha, but it doesn’t taste like it’s been poisoned. It’s actually soothing, like a long hug after a hard day, and Kurt’s had enough hard days lately for a gallon of this stuff. He shuts his eyes, and all he can hear is the sink running as Sebastian potters around the kitchen. If he could detach himself from what brought him here, from the  _ Sebastian _ of it all, it would be blissfully domestic. 

This is all too weird. He feels wrong for enjoying any part of it. “Are your parents out?” Kurt asks, mainly to break himself out of his reverie. 

“You wouldn’t be up here yet if they weren’t,” Sebastian answers, which is delightfully vague. 

“Why’s that?” 

Kurt looks up to see Sebastian grinning slyly at the spatula he’s scrubbing. “They’d come to their own conclusions about why you’re here, and I’m sure we’d both rather avoid that. Let’s just say I’ve had one too many… ‘Gentleman callers’ since I moved back in. I manage to keep most of them to myself, but some of them are bad at following simple instructions, like ‘don’t stomp on your way out,’ or ‘please, for the love of God, do not introduce yourself to my parents.’ The celibacy seminars I have to sit through afterwards are starting to get a little samey.” 

“Wow,” is the only thing Kurt can think to say at first; the assumptions he had already made didn’t prepare him for that. Sebastian says it so casually, as though Kurt should be having the same issues. Still, there’s something funny about the image of Sebastian having to sneak his conquests past his family. “You bring all your hook-ups back to your parents’ basement? What a player.”

“First of all, you would bring guys back to your folks’ place if it looked like this, and you had a sex life.” Sebastian points the newly cleaned spatula at Kurt, but he’s more focused on the food in front of him. Sebastian gives up on cleaning for a moment in favour of watching him scatter the berries across his plate. “Secondly, they only end up seeing one room, and it’s not the basement.” 

Even if that lifestyle had ever appealed to Kurt, Sebastian’s take on it would be enough to put him off - and not because he’s averse to having an active sex life, as some lesser men might suggest. Call him old-fashioned, but Kurt can’t stomach the thought of getting naked with somebody who doesn’t even know his last name. He would say the mere thought makes him sick but the tea is doing its job and Kurt would rather eat than think about any of that. 

Finally, he takes his first bite, and he’s certain he can handle a permanent hangover if it means eating like this every morning. He’ll need to get Sebastian’s recipe for that to happen though; there’s no way he’s making a habit of keeping him company. 

“Oh my god,” Kurt moans, although it sounds more like ‘ _ mmmmgod’ _ . Sebastian chuckles at him from across the room, sparing him occasional glances as he begins to devour his meal in earnest. For a few blissful mouthfuls, Kurt’s world is all sweet cream and berries. 

Then he realises he’s started staring, and his chewing grinds to a halt. He must be curious, he tells himself. Most people don’t get the opportunity to see a high school rival doing something as mundane as the dishes, framed by the morning sunlight and clothes they would never leave the house in. He’s gotten taller too, just the tiniest bit, Kurt thinks, and that is the only reason Kurt’s looking at his legs. 

** _BZZT._ **

Kurt’s phone finally buzzes back to life, and his heart all but bursts. He practically launches himself across the kitchen because he cannot believe himself right now, cannot believe that he forgot about updating his dad. He certainly wouldn’t have managed that if the battery hadn’t run out - it’s still buzzing like nobody’s business as all the missed notifications make themselves known. 

It’s still vibrating when Kurt scoops it up, frantically unlocking it. He opens up his conversation with his dad and types before he worries about reading anything.

**To Dad:** _I’m so so sorry dad, things with Blaine got really weird and I lost track of time, I completely forgot to check in with you. I’m safe, nothing bad happened. Tell Carole I’m sorry too. I’ll be home in a couple of hours, I’ll let you know when I’m on my way._** [Today, 10:13]**

With that out of the way, Kurt braces himself as he scrolls through the expected tide of messages, only to find there’s a grand total of… Five.

**From Dad: **_u left the porch light on, r u going to b back late?_ **[Yesterday, 21:07]**

**From Dad:** _thinking of hittin the hay. Its late, r u staying with ur friends? just need to kno if i can put the latch on._ **[Yesterday, 22:37]**

**From Dad: ** _ Missed Call _ .  **[Yesterday, 22:59]**

**From Dad: **_worried. call when u see this._ **[Yesterday, 23:12]**

**From Dad: ** _ just heard from blaine. he seems wary about this guy ur with. hope ur being careful.  _ **[Yesterday, 23:20]**

Kurt exhales so sharply it hurts. His dad knows he’s okay now, that’s what really matters, but he should have thought about that last night. 

“Christ, Kurt, you’re shaking.”

Kurt feels Sebastian’s eyes on his back, where every single muscle is drawn tight. “Sorry,” he blurts out, although he knows it’s not Sebastian he needs to apologise to. “It’s fine, they’re fine. I’m just a terrible son.” 

“I doubt they’d say that,” Sebastian says, as though Kurt’s being overdramatic. 

As though his parents haven’t been through enough. As though they haven’t already lost a son. 

He turns around expecting to see a supercilious sneer he can give a piece of his mind to, but Sebastian is oddly calm. He won’t quite meet Kurt’s eyes, but he’s wearing a pensive expression that he recognises from last night.

“Being hard on yourself won’t do you or them any good. I’m not going to pretend to know how you guys feel after losing Finn like that, but you’re okay right now, yeah?” Sebastian raises an eyebrow, and Kurt reluctantly nods. “Exactly. I have officially cured you of your hangover, and although you  _ look _ like you’ve been running from the law for several months, you haven’t actually done anything wrong. I’d be surprised to hear they’re the type of people to hold an innocent mistake against you forever.”

He isn’t entirely sure how to respond to that. It’s strange to have somebody acknowledge Finn’s passing without launching into either an emotional monologue or an uncomfortable silence, but he’s grateful that he’s not being asked to bare his soul over it. In Sebastian’s teasing, he sees an opportunity to steer the conversation away from it, but his phone chimes with a more demanding distraction.

**From Blaine: **_I hope you’ve spoken to your father. You really worried everybody, Kurt._ **[Today, 10:16] **

“What the…” Kurt scowls at the screen, reading the message three times before the irritation really sets in - both towards Blaine and himself. He can practically hear Blaine saying it in his most condescending voice, the one that drives Kurt wild in the worst possible way, but there’s another voice in the back of his mind that tells him it’s something he needs to hear. That voice sounds an awful lot like Blaine, too. Perhaps there’s some truth to it. 

“What?” Sebastian probes, his curiosity evidently piqued. 

“It’s just Blaine. He’s…” Kurt trails off, as he checks the rest of their conversation. 

**From Blaine: **_Please tell me Dave’s joking. Sebastian? Really?_ **[Yesterday, 22:32]**

**From Blaine: **_And you definitely weren’t drunk. If you were embarrassed, you could have just been an adult about it. You didn’t even say goodbye…_ **[Yesterday, 22:35]**

**From Blaine: ** _ If this is all just to spite me, it’s really not fair. I really thought I knew you better than that. You’re not that person, Kurt.  _ **[Yesterday, 23:01]**

**From Blaine: **_I mean, we both know what Sebastian’s like. He’s messing with you, clearly._ **[Yesterday, 23:11]**

**From Blaine: **_Missed Call._ **[Yesterday, 23:13]**

**From Blaine: **_Missed Call._ **[Yesterday, 23:16]**

**From Blaine:** _Just called your dad to check if you made it home but apparently he hasn’t seen you. I covered for you, let him know you were with our ‘old friend.’ The least you could do is tell me what’s actually going on. _**[Yesterday, 23:22]**

It’s certainly… Overwhelming. That’s not even the last of them, but Kurt has to force himself to stop there, it’s making him a little dizzy. He’s right, isn’t he? Kurt screwed up by neglecting his loved ones, but it doesn’t make sense - where was all this energy during their actual relationship? Why does it take Kurt spending time with other people for Blaine to care?

“Huh… I never pegged him as the jealous type.” Sebastian pipes up, watching over Kurt’s shoulder as he scrolls through the onslaught. When did he get so close, exactly? 

Kurt snorts - clearly Sebastian never really knew Blaine. He remembers the Chandler Kiehl incident, and all that drama over their bodies filling out in different ways in New York, how they threw their whole dynamic off balance for days at a time. As strenuous as those rough patches were, they always bounced back from there. Eventually, Kurt would figure out what wasn’t working, and they would both open up and sort it out. He always loved the catharsis of those moments, the relief of knowing he and Blaine were getting back on the same page…

Kurt sighs wistfully. “He most certainly was with me. Karofsky had better not have too many other suitors at hand.”

“Was? Yeah, right. If he’s texting you that much, he hasn’t really moved on.” Sebastian says with an assuredness that stokes Kurt’s dwindling optimism. 

“You think so?” Kurt looks up with a more-than-healthy amount of hope. He had wondered as much, looking through all of those messages, but he doesn’t want to embarrass himself in front of Blaine any further by pursuing that line of thought if it’s a dead end. Hearing somebody else say it, though, makes it feel more real. Like he has a shot at getting their relationship back to what it was before Kurt let his anxieties taint it. 

Sebastian shrugs. “I can’t read his mind or anything, but I honestly don’t think there’s that much to unpack anyway. If he’s that possessive, the mere thought of you and I getting laid is probably working him up enough for another proposal as we speak. Can’t say I’d be so willing to get involved this time, though.” 

Kurt shakes his head in disbelief; he’s stuck on the laughable idea of him and Sebastian physically touching on purpose at all. “No, no, absolutely not. He knows me better than that. I’m not the kind of guy who… I mean, I don’t go around--” 

“Having casual sex?”

“Yes, that,” Kurt orders his skin to remain unflushed. 

“Well then, tell him it was more than that. Tell him I wined and dined you like nobody’s business, and it was the most romantic night of your life. Hell, maybe tonight could be our second date.” Sebastian suggests theatrically, waving a hand in front of him slowly as though he’s setting a scene. Kurt can’t see it, which is just as well - Sebastian can’t possibly be serious. 

“Where would you have taken me for dinner at 10:30 at night, exactly?” Kurt chuckles through his words.

“Alright, just wined then. Or maybe I cooked for you here, that’s supposed to be romantic, isn’t it?” 

Kurt can’t fathom why he’s still pushing this.

“That’s not really the problem, Sebastian.”

“Then what is the problem, Kurt?” Sebastian mimics his inflexion - but isn’t the answer obvious? Surely he can see how ridiculous this concept is. 

“You,” Kurt says bluntly, the word fighting its way through another laugh.

Sebastian stills, the playfulness lost from his body. 

“Oh, come on. You basically introduced yourself to me as the king of the hump-and-dump! Let alone all that talk about Blaine being too good for me, and me being hideous in every possible way. In fact, he already thinks the only reason you approached me at all was to screw with my head,” Kurt raises his phone, the screen still lit up with Blaine’s complaints. “He can’t believe that you could tolerate me, let alone cook for me.” 

Sebastian reaches past Kurt to grab a dish towel, before heading back to the sink. His hesitation perplexes Kurt - Sebastian seems almost lost in thought as he starts drying the pan. “Why do you think I started talking to you in that bathroom?” Something about the way his shoulders have raised tells Kurt it’s an important question, although he can’t imagine why. 

“I believe it had something to do with burning curiosity,” Kurt answers tentatively. 

He nods at that, and Kurt starts to worry less about the increasingly serious atmosphere. That is until Sebastian asks, “and why did you say yes? To driving all the way here, I mean.”

Last night, he told himself the answer to that question very clearly: he wanted to forget, just for a moment. Life pitched him one too many curveballs at once (it’s clearly still affecting him if he’s actively thinking in sports metaphors) and, on a whim, he left the bar with his former nemesis. At the time, it felt like a blind and desperate risk taken on the off-chance it would make him feel better about Blaine moving on. Now, with Blaine’s texts on his mind, he wonders if it  _ was _ partially out of spite. 

_ Tit for tat. You couple up with the guy who used to make my life hell, I get myself wasted with the guy who put you in hospital.  _ It makes sense.

God, he feels pathetic. Again. Why  _ did _ he think this was a good idea? Maybe he was too busy wrestling with his heartbreak to deal with silly things like forethought. 

“I don’t know,” Kurt answers honestly. Now that he’s seen the consequences of that choice in the way it’s upset his dad and Blaine, he can’t settle on a reason that feels good enough. “I’m starting to think I shouldn’t have.”

Sebastian bristles. Kurt can’t see his face besides the set of his jaw, but that’s enough to tell him that’s not what he wanted to hear. “Well,” he begins snappily after a lengthy pause, now putting away the kitchenware. His movements are smooth but his voice is strained, and he keeps his eyes firmly set on the utensils at hand. “Nobody’s forcing you to stay.”

Kurt’s a little taken aback by that. He almost objects, but there’s no real reason for that, is there? That’s right, they don’t like each other. One night of binge drinking and talking about the past they’d like to change doesn’t  _ actually _ change anything. 

Kurt slips his phone into his pocket and strides towards the kitchen’s exit. He falters once he reaches it, and turns to watch Sebastian as he organises cutlery. “Um… How do I--”

“Take a left at the end of the hall.” Sebastian cuts him off, with no pretence of amicability. 

Good. That’s exactly how he’s meant to sound, and it makes it that much easier to leave without another word, besides a quiet “thanks” once he’s out of Sebastian’s line of sight. 

Even so, he feels uneasy right up until he reaches his car, as though he’s set an avalanche in motion. There’s a strange tugging feeling in his gut, the same kind he gets whenever he leaves a project unfinished. The messes he’s going to have to sort out weigh heavy on his mind, and as he collapses into the driver’s seat he lets his forehead settle against the steering wheel. 

This is why he doesn’t let loose more often - look at where he ends up when he does!  _ Columbus! _ The past 24 hours of his life consist of nothing but mistakes, and he is more than ready to start rectifying them.

His phone buzzes again, and he growls in response. He doesn’t want to hear from Blaine because, if he does, he knows he’ll start thinking about Sebastian’s stupid ideas, his inexplicable enthusiasm, and how quickly it disappeared when Kurt pointed out why they were so stupid. At this point, he’s committed to stopping thinking about Sebastian entirely. Those thoughts are too messy, lost in transmission, somewhere between positive and negative, but not a zero - because that would be too easy - which just goes to show he’s still more trouble than he’s worth.  _ Nothing’s changed, not really,  _ he tells himself, repeating it like a mantra. They’re still two people who don’t like each other - they just forgot that for an evening. 

When he finally checks the message, he’s pleasantly surprised. 

**From Dad: **_glad ur alright. just keep ur phone charged ok? talk later, love u._ **[Today, 10:23]**

Kurt smiles at the screen, and his heart starts feeling full again. Some things never fail to lift his spirits, and his father’s unwavering support is one of them. Sebastian was right about that. 

Not that he’s paying any heed to anything that happened in that house.

**To Dad: **_On my way now. Love you too, dad_ _(:_ **[Today, 10:24]**

Kurt slots the key into the ignition, twists, and decides to spend the drive planning a flavourful, heart-healthy apology dinner. 

He doesn’t think about the blanket or the crepe or how he could have rephrased his thoughts more politely before he left-- not even once. 

* * *

“Are you sure you’re going to be alright, Kurt?” Rachel asks, for the millionth time. In fact, it’s the second time she’s asked since she pressed the buzzer. 

Right now, they’re stuck out in the cold because Mr Schuester has organised a dinner party of sorts to catch up before the show choir season begins. Some people might be concerned that a very nearly 40-year-old man’s only friends are his former students, and in all honesty, Kurt is one of them. He likes Mr Schue though, as clueless and self-centred as he can occasionally be, and he’s grateful for another chance to see Blaine in person on neutral ground. He spent most of last night in bed, typing out and deleting apologies that didn’t make the cut, before eventually deciding that it was best left to be done in person.

“Rachel,” Kurt looks her square in the eyes and makes sure to speak slowly, “I am an adult. Blaine is an adult. We can handle being in the same room.” He can see why she’s worried - he’s refused to share any of the details of his failed reunion with Blaine, and in true Rachel Berry fashion, she has convinced herself that it was a disaster complete with at least 2 musical numbers and a shedload of tears. She doesn’t need to know that she’s half correct. Kurt can keep his bleeding heart to himself for one evening, no matter how nervous he is. 

He has a plan: none of the others know that anything out of the ordinary took place that night - all he needs to do is keep the conversation light-hearted, and find an opportunity to get Blaine alone and discreetly apologise. 

The sceptical look Rachel gives him is disconcerting, though. She’s never been good with secrets; after living with her for the past two years and facilitating her nonsense for much longer, Kurt likes to think he can tell when she’s trying to keep one. Her lips are tightly pressed together, her hands are behind her back, and she won’t make lasting eye contact anymore - she definitely knows something she shouldn’t. 

“Why are you--”

“Yo, Adrian!” Crackles an unnaturally deep voice via the callbox. 

“Sam! Thank goodness, it’s freezing out here!” Rachel lights up with relief, and Kurt’s not convinced that it’s because she’s about to escape the weather.   
  
Kurt rolls his eyes fondly. “What would you have done if it hadn’t been us? Most people aren’t so familiar with your take on Rocky.”

“Hey, whaddya mean? It’s great!” Sam continues, refusing to let the voice slide. At least he remembers to buzz them in. 

Mr Schue bursts out of his kitchen in a frenzy when they finally get inside; Kurt and Rachel are immediately swept up in a flurry of hugs and greetings. The apartment is warmed with the smell of home-cooking and easy company. Kurt’s still nervous to see Blaine, but for now he just wants to decompress, surrounded by people who love him.

There are several beautifully presented appetisers spread across the coffee table, and Kurt is quite endeared by all the effort Mr Schue has gone to - even though he’s sure Ms Pilsbury lent a hand in their preparation. 

“So,” Mr Schue says, once everybody’s claimed a spot on his couches. “You guys are all back at McKinley! How’d it go?”

Rachel lets out a groan that oozes melodrama, reaching for the plate of bruschetta. “All I did today was take in the sign-up sheets, and I still managed to get slushied-- as a member of staff, no less!” Kurt gives her knee a supportive pat - he heard this story several times on the drive over, but it’s an unspoken rule of their New Directions heritage to always take that particular plight seriously. 

“I’ll never forget how cold those things are. I still get chills whenever the team bring them into the locker rooms,” Sam shudders, “which really isn’t fair, because it’s like I’m feeling it even though I’m too cool for anybody to actually throw them at me— No offence Rachel.”

“It’s sort of nice to feel like an underdog again, actually. I’ve got to replant the roots of my authenticity before I regrow my branches as an actress.” Rachel says - Kurt knows she’s still putting on a brave face after the flop of  _ That’s So Rachel _ , only to come home and find out her parents are getting a divorce, and he has to admire her ability to turn hitting rock bottom into a chance to hone her skills.  _ That’s  _ so Rachel of her.

“Well I, for one, am very glad that I didn’t go in with you today,” Kurt says, receiving a warm smile and a playful nudge to his side for it.

Mr Schue raises an eyebrow at them both, hastily swallowing a goat cheese tartlet. “Wait, aren’t you guys co-directing?”

“We are,” Kurt says.   
  
“Not exactly,” Rachel says, at exactly the same time. When Kurt squints at Rachel, she reluctantly continues. “We’re just focusing on recruiting for now, and it really only takes one of us to put up flyers--”

Once more, Rachel is saved by the bell. The door buzzes, and Mr Schue rockets up onto his feet. “That’ll be Blaine - you guys can go ahead and sit at the table, the food’s just about ready...” 

Rachel keeps trying to meet Kurt’s eye as they move to the dining table. Although she looks worried, he gets the feeling that there’s more to it than selfless concern; when Blaine makes his entrance she puts on her stage smile, and Kurt’s helped her prepare for one audition too many to not recognise it. Looking at Blaine makes it difficult to pay her much attention at all, though.

He’s wearing a plaid blazer and matching bow tie that Kurt bought him from a vintage market in June that he never wore out in New York. It’s so incredibly  _ Blaine  _ it makes Kurt ache, makes him forget anything is wrong for a moment - as if he could get up and straighten that tie for him, and nobody would bat an eye. 

“Sorry I’m late, I hope I didn’t miss anything important,” he tells the room at large, without sparing Kurt so much as a glance.  _ Ouch _ . An entirely different pain brings him back down to earth. Blaine’s smile seems so easy, but the instant he sits down Kurt feels a sudden stab of tension that nobody else picks up on. 

Mr Schuester bustles back into the room, setting a large casserole dish in the centre of the group. “So, I finally have all of you together.” He stands at the head of the table looking far too serious, “let’s talk show choir ground rules.”

He should pay attention to this - he’s going to be co-running a show choir for several months after all - but it’s the things that aren’t being said that stick in his mind. Like the exasperated look Blaine aims at Rachel when Kurt turns down a glass of wine - or the way he rubs the back of his neck when Sam asks about Karofsky.

Kurt is a little restless, but coping just fine until Blaine brings up the Jane dilemma. It’s so unlike him to even question something like that, Kurt thinks - the Blaine he knows would put equality before tradition, any day. 

“You have to let her try out. I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?” He suggests, and Rachel hums her assent. 

Blaine nods slowly, looking directly at Kurt for the first time since he showed up. “Maybe,” he responds plainly, piercing a piece of chicken with his fork. The anger in it is subtle, but it’s enough to tell Kurt to keep his thoughts to himself for a while. 

Kurt doesn’t offer up any more opinions for the rest of the meal, and nobody seems hugely perturbed. Well, every now and then he catches Sam watching him with a perplexed expression, but he puts that down to the amount of very specific Broadway jargon Rachel keeps coming out with. Once they’re all finished discussing the sacred  _ do _ s and  _ don’t _ s of coaching a high school glee club (do encourage the kids to be creative and experiment with their song selections; don’t encourage it exactly 2 days before a big competition, especially not when you’re expecting original songs out of them) Mr Schue begins gathering their plates. 

Kurt is frustrated with himself. He told Rachel he would be fine because he believed it, but he’s spent the past hour or so hyper-analysing every last move Blaine makes. He’s scrambling for a way to salvage something between them and he knows it; that sensation of humiliation he felt at Scandals has been slowly trickling back into his system for a while now, and when Mr Schue sets dessert in front of him he can only manage a few bites. His appetite has been thwarted by an impending sense of doom, a feeling that something is about to go disastrously wrong again. 

Nothing comes of his prophesying until he’s on his way out. 

Kurt is about to give Sam some much-needed personal hygiene tips to pass on to the kids on the football team - those communal showers are practically Mardi Gras for athlete’s foot - when he feels a light touch on his elbow. He turns to see Blaine, wearing an expression he can’t read, and his heart leaps up into his throat. He had just begun mentally preparing himself to initiate this confrontation in the parking lot - he’s not ready.

“Kurt,” Blaine begins stiffly, “I was hoping we could talk for a moment?” His eyes flit between Sam and Rachel, but they don’t get and refuse to take the hint respectively. “...Alone?”

Rachel huffs - the last time Kurt saw her make a face like that, she had just been ‘escorted’ out of the movie version of  _ Les Misérables  _ for sobbing too loudly at  _ A Little Fall of Rain.  _ (Kurt kept his weeping silent, thank you very much.) “Fine! Come along, Sam.” She links arms with him, marching him down the hall. He looks confused but doesn’t put up a fight. “We can use this golden alone time to discuss the boys on the team. What are their vocal ranges like? Because we’re going to need…”

As Rachel’s demanding voice peters out, Kurt and Blaine both seem to forget themselves. They haven’t laughed together in months - even if it’s only a quiet chuckle brought on by Rachel being her usual vibrant self, it feels like a chance. If they can still look into each other’s eyes and connect over little things like that, maybe there’s a way to rebuild something bigger.

The connection breaks as quickly as it formed when Blaine looks at his feet, with that sheepish schoolboy smile he always wears when he’s done something he shouldn’t. Right. They’re done. Blaine is with somebody else because they’re done, because Kurt gave up.

The silence stretches itself thin. Kurt looks expectantly at Blaine, who seems to suddenly remember he’s the one who asked him to stay. 

“I just wanted to give you a chance to explain yourself.” He pauses for a moment, and Kurt really doesn’t know what to say - he can’t even explain himself to himself yet. When he tries, he ends up making a defeated sound in the back of his throat. 

Kurt showed up tonight fully intending to do exactly what Blaine’s just asked, but a small part of him expected Blaine would have something to say, too. Although he has no doubt it came from a place of genuine concern, Kurt isn’t fond of the way Blaine addressed him that night. It’s taken him a while to put his finger on it, to single out the one word that makes everything click: entitlement. Needing to know where Kurt is, who he’s with, and designating himself as the middleman between Kurt and his father surely crosses the boundaries of being an ex. That’s one of the few good things to come of their break up, although it never really sank in before he left New York - he still found himself feeling guilty whenever he went out for a bite with Dani or spent the night hanging out with Elliot, but there’s no real reason for Blaine’s to dictate his schedule anymore.

If they get back together, that will be one of the things they have to work on.

Blaine seems to take the lack of a response as confusion and decides to elaborate. “I know things were weird at Scandals, and I could have broken the news a little better. I guess I just assumed you’d started moving on too. It’s my fault - I should have realised it was still sore for you when you contacted me through Rachel...”

Now he’s looking at Kurt with pity-- except the corners of his lips are curled up ever so slightly, and Kurt knows this. This is the face Blaine makes when he’s trying not to gloat; he’s enjoying this _ .  _ Maybe Kurt was naive to announce his intentions of winning Blaine back from the rooftops, but he never suspected he might have it thrown back in his face like this. Maybe this is just what he deserves for failing Blaine in the first place.

The thought of that is mortifying, and he squirms within himself. As much as he wants to press a magic button and have the last two days undone, no such device exists - he’ll just have to convince Blaine that the things he said before Karofsky turned up don’t apply anymore.

Kurt steamrolls his feelings into the deepest recesses of his mind. “Actually, I was hoping we’d get a chance to talk about that. I know I came into it sounding like that clingy ex-boyfriend we’ve all had nightmares about, but I think I just needed some closure… And perspective. I promise it won’t come up again.” He puts every acting lesson NYADA has to offer into each and every word. It tears him up inside, but he knows there’s no joy to be found in blindly wishing for Blaine to come back to him - at least this way he can be miserable with some dignity.

“It’s alright, Kurt. I can understand if you’ve got some… Lingering feelings.” Blaine brushes it all away with one dismissive wave of his hand, as if to say it’s an unavoidable truth that Kurt will be stuck on him forever. Maybe it is. “It’s what happened afterwards that’s still bothering me. Why didn’t you say anything before you left?” 

The faster he explains it all away, the faster he can pretend it didn’t happen. “I was just going with my gut. I was practically in shock when Sebastian showed up, so--”

“Sebastian…” Blaine cuts him off, sounding doubtful. “So Dave wasn’t kidding? You left with him?”

Kurt can only nod, and feel a pang of guilt at the flash of hurt behind Blaine’s eyes. “He could tell I was in a weird situation, and he offered me a way out. I know it wasn’t the mature thing to do, but--”

Blaine scoffs at that, and Kurt watches as the traces of pain morph into disgust. “Spare me the details of your rebound, please, I don’t need to hear about that…”

Kurt feels like a child being scolded for sticking his face in the candy jar. What did he tell Sebastian yesterday morning, that Blaine knew him better than that? Would he laugh, if he could hear this exchange?

“That’s not what happened, Blaine. We--” 

“Sorry, but I’m struggling to imagine what else a guy like Sebastian would want with you.” 

It’s supposed to be a dig at Sebastian, Kurt knows that, but he feels insulted all the same. It reinforces all those weird looks from Rachel, the way his parents look at each other when they think he isn’t watching, how his mind turns against him when he finds himself alone - like the idea of anybody else ever wanting him in any way is ludicrous. Blaine’s tone is still light enough to tell Kurt he has no idea how harsh it sounds. 

“What do you mean, Blaine?” Kurt asks, his voice wrapped tightly in forced neutrality. He folds his arms as he poses the question, and Blaine seems to see straight through him. 

“No, Kurt, no-- That’s not what I mean. It’s just that the idea of you starting up something serious with him…”

At that precise moment, Kurt decides to start shooting himself in the foot. 

“And what if I did?”   
  
_ Bang. _

“What?”

“Is it really that unthinkable that somebody else would be interested in me that way?”

_ Bang. _

“Kurt,” Blaine pauses to take a deep breath in, to let it out, to batten down a laugh, “are you seriously trying to tell me you like him? And that  _ he  _ likes  _ you _ ?” He’s never heard a person sound so incredulous, but there’s a look of realisation growing slowly stronger, like Blaine might be about to acknowledge that, yes, if he wanted to, Kurt could convince some other sucker to be into him. He wants Blaine to understand that.

So, like an idiot, Kurt just shrugs. 

“Kurt, that’s…” His brows knit together with uncertainty while his gaze searches Kurt for all the telltale signs of attempted deceit - he must be radiating lies by now. He doesn’t seem to find any.

That’s when Blaine swerves, and sets off a damn bomb.

“...That’s perfect!” 

_ Boom. _

Kurt tilts his head, masking his confusion with a smile that stretches a little too wide. “I--...I’m sorry?”

Blaine seems relieved, although he’s a touch too lively for it to be genuine. “The main reason I agreed to meet up with you was to talk about the party - I didn’t want to just go ahead with it without your permission, but this way it all works out!”

“Hold on, Blaine, slow down,” Kurt miraculously keeps himself from actually stuttering. Things have taken an impossible turn impossibly fast - he didn’t want Blaine to really believe him, just to stop underestimating him, and now Kurt seems to have caught himself in a trap. “What party?”

“The, um,” Blaine averts his gaze sheepishly, “the one we were planning for next month?”

Kurt blinks once, twice, and waits for it to sink in. It’s not working - he feels numb. “The one you wanted to use to hand out wedding invites to all the Warblers? But… We never actually decided on that.”

For a moment, Kurt wonders if he’s going legitimately insane, or if Mr Schue’s building has a major gas leak. He remembers Blaine suggesting that party, and saying he would think about it simply to placate Blaine’s passion for the idea. Kurt was hesitant to go along with it because he didn’t want to make a spectacle, in case things turned out… Exactly like this.

“Yeah, that one,” Blaine says, with all the self-awareness of a trilobite. “I always figured you’d come around and see my side of things eventually, so I’d already started planning it by the time we…” 

_ Broke up _ , Kurt wants to finish for him, which is the exact looming possibility that kept him from wanting something so public in the first place. 

Blaine can’t bring himself to do the honours - instead, he coughs awkwardly, and swiftly moves on from there. “I thought about cancelling it but I’d already organised the place, and I really wanted to see everybody again, you know? I was so upset at the time, I thought a little reunion would be perfect to get me back to myself, so that’s what it is now! A reunion, for the Warblers.”

“You weren’t going to invite me,” Kurt states - because it’s not a question. He wants Blaine to deny it so badly. 

“Not at first,” he confesses far too cheerfully, as if revealing it now makes it less hurtful, “but Dave convinced me to at least mention it to you, to see what you think - and if there’s something happening between you and Sebastian, I see no reason for you two to not come along.”

He needs to say something, and he needs to say it about 30 seconds ago. It’s the truth, it should be easy -  _ nothing has ever happened between Sebastian Smythe and I, and I’m stunned that you believe such a thing could be possible  _ \- and yet the words elude him, they die on the tip of his tongue when he thinks of familiar faces contorting with laughter when they see him at his own engagement party, single and pining after the ex they all used to worship.  _ No _ . Anything but that.

“Well, I…” Kurt racks his brain for the right way to say it, the delicate way to tell Blaine he’s still as single as a Kraft slice without making himself out to be the pathological liar he has so clearly become. It quickly boils down to a choice between one or the other and, seeing how  _ terrifically _ it’s worked out for him so far, he chooses the latter in a blind panic. “It’s all… Very new. I wouldn’t want to spring that on him just yet, not until we figure out… Things.”

There’s a competition beneath the surface of their words, Kurt realises; the way Blaine’s eyes sparkle at his floundering is enough to confirm it. Blaine can keep his tone as breezy as he likes but Kurt is intimately familiar with the way he looks in the heat of battle, whether he’s at war with a rival show choir or a particularly stubborn pickle jar lid. It’s his own fault for giving in to his compulsions, for needing to save face so badly. He has avoided the pinprick of shame that is Blaine lauding his new relationship over him by diving head-first into a bear trap.  _ Wonderful job, Kurt. Gold star for you. _

Blaine puts a hand on his shoulder, and Kurt swears he can hear the slam of a gavel confirming his death sentence. “Don’t worry, Kurt. If he likes you, he’ll be there.” 

It’s a very big ‘if,’ and the lofty smile Blaine treats him to before he walks away tells him they both know it. 

This can’t be happening. It just can’t, he tells himself, as Blaine’s boat shoes tap their way into the distance. He can’t have tricked himself into going along with Sebastian’s idiotic ploy - and yet he has. All the drinks he put away in Sebastian’s basement must have wiped out half of his brain cells, giving that little seed he planted plenty of room to grow. 

He didn’t want much out of tonight. He wanted to have a nice dinner with his friends, he wanted things to feel a little more normal, and he wanted Blaine to stop looking at him like he was miles ahead in some sort of race Kurt didn’t sign up for. Inadvertently, it seems he’s taken the bait at the expense of his integrity.

He should chase after Blaine, march up to his car and tell him, point blank, that he’s just embarrassed. That he doesn’t want to be left behind, that he still loves him no matter how strange things feel between them now-- but his feet are frozen in place. 

There’s no way Blaine really believes him. He’s generously not calling Kurt’s bluff to give him the time to come up with another excuse, a better lie. Maybe Sebastian will catch Spanish influenza nearly 1000 years too late and will be too unwell for any improvised a capella performances. Maybe he’ll be snowed in his family’s private lodge in the Swiss Alps, with such awful conditions that the Smythes’ equally private helicopter can’t rescue them - he doubts they’re  _ that _ rich, but if he’s going to have a mysteriously absent fake love interest, he may as well be an absurdly wealthy one. Maybe Kurt will just confess, and pray to the nearest deity he doesn’t believe in that nobody thinks less of him for it because this could be the most idiotic stunt he’s ever pulled. 

Yes, that’s definitely the sensible thing to do. He has plenty of time to think about it - he lingers on the staircase as he waits, wanting to be sure Blaine’s car is long gone by the time he reaches his own. 

When Kurt finally starts driving, there’s no real direction to it at first. For a solid 10 minutes, he lets his body lead the vehicle in whatever direction it sees fit because his mind evidently isn’t in the right place to be making major decisions today. 

He’s lying again, this time to himself. Each turn brings him closer to the edge of the city, meandering to and fro as he tries to convince himself he’s not stupid enough to try and follow it through.

He gives up when he drives past a bar. He watches two guys stumbling out as he passes by, one slumped under the arm of the other, and the whole debacle at Scandals replays itself in his head by the time they’re out of sight. Sebastian lied for him then, with nothing to gain from it - would he be willing to do it again? 

He pulls over before he hits a major road, and sends a text he should have sent about 48 hours ago. 

**To Dad: ** _ I’m going to be back late again tonight, don’t wait up. I’ve got my key. I’ll see you in the morning! (:  _ **[Today, 19:47]**

Thankfully, his GPS saves his recent journeys. He reverses the one at the top of the list, letting the starting point become his destination, and begins the long haul back to Columbus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, chapter 2! I was so nervous about posting this, you guys have no idea, but every single word of the comments I got last time have kept me afloat! Seriously, they were so sweet - as a self-proclaimed new writer I should probably have a few more words to sum up how happy they made me, but none of them do the trick!
> 
> The fact that 54 people read chapter 1 and deemed it worthy of a kudos is totally mind-boggling, but I'm incredibly grateful that you did!
> 
> Anyway! That's that - and in another 2 weeks, you can expect to hear more from this story! (If I can fix up the hot mess that is chapter 3 at this moment in time...)
> 
> Again, I can be found here if needed: https://alphabees-writes.tumblr.com/  
Y'all can talk to me about whatever... Glee... Kurtbastian... The weather... Anything to help me procrastinate! It'll also be an easy way to see when I've posted an update here (:


	3. Strike A Balance, Knock It Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt has some convincing to do - endlessly, it seems.

Kurt should probably just go home. 

He’s been staring at the front door for a few minutes too many now and achieved nothing, aside from deducing that the knocker is definitely bronze - not that he’s actually worked up the courage to touch it. That’s one of the myriad reasons to walk away and forget this whole crazy notion - not to mention the fact that it’s way too late to pop in for a casual visit, uninvited and unannounced. 

If he were to knock, and Sebastian were to answer, what would he even say? ‘ _ Hello! It’s me again. Is there any chance you’d still be willing to go along with that hare-brained pretending-to-be-into-each-other scheme that you suggested, and I immediately shot down without a second thought? There’s nothing in it for you, per se, except a chance to publicly humiliate us both when everybody immediately sees right through it.’ _

Yeah, somehow, Kurt can’t see that working out.

He takes a step back from the door - he’s really feeling a retreat right now - but just before he turns away, it opens.

A bleary-eyed teenaged girl stands in the doorframe, swathed in a thick purple blanket, light spilling out from behind her. Tired, but warm golden-brown eyes give Kurt a slow once-over, peering at him curiously behind a pair of round, wire-framed glasses. Once she’s done the girl smiles approvingly which is a small, but welcome victory. She stands up straighter, pushes her glasses up, and reaches towards the back of her head to tighten her long dirty-blonde ponytail before draping the hair over her shoulder. When Kurt looks more attentively at her complexion and the straight slope of her nose, it’s blatantly obvious that he’s looking at Sebastian’s sister.

Kurt bypasses fight or flight and freezes, opening and closing his mouth like a goldfish whose tank has exploded, leaving it flopping helplessly on the ground. He wonders if he’s turned up at the wrong house for a moment, but he very distinctly remembers storming down this particular driveway just days ago-- _Shit_. Of course, Sebastian doesn’t live here by himself, why didn’t he consider the possibility of him not being home alone - or not being home at all? He should have thought of that on the drive over, but his internal monologue throughout the journey was limited to ‘_Why did I do that?_’ and ‘_What the hell am I going to do now?_’

She’s still staring, waiting for him to say something logical and coherent to explain what he’s doing on their veranda in the darkness - but no such words appear. Instead, he comes out with: 

“Can I help you?”

The girl tries to keep her amusement to herself, and Kurt appreciates the effort even though she’s not successful. She’s started running a hand through her hair, twirling the locks between her fingers in a manner Kurt can only perceive as nervous. “I was about to ask you the same thing, seeing as you’ve been out here pacing for, like, five minutes already.”

“Right,” Kurt shakes his head, distantly hoping it might knock out the stupidity that seems to be rapidly accumulating inside. “I’m sorry, I’m pretty sure I’ve got the wrong house actually, so I’ll just--”   
  
“Hold on,” the girl interjects, abruptly letting her hair go. She wears a wry smile, as though she’s trying to mask a sense of disappointment. “You’re here for Sebastian, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am,” Kurt admits - he feels bad for making this girl stand out in the cold, and now that he’s been caught hovering outside he may as well give it a shot. What does he have to lose? 

...Oh, right, his self-respect. 

She tugs the door all the way open, before slinking back into the house. Kurt watches as she approaches the stairs, her blanket trailing after her like a regal cape, before she stops at the bottom and hollers up at a volume comparable to a plane taking off: “Hey! Seb! You’ve got a visitor - again!” The girl cups a hand over her ears, waiting for a response. She huffs, rolling her eyes when it becomes apparent that she’s not going to get one. Kurt’s just trying to recover from the yelling. 

“I swear, I should be getting paid for this. I make an excellent doorman. Or… Doorwoman? Hm.” The girl grumbles. Kurt isn’t sure if he’s meant to be commenting or not until she begins shuffling her slippered feet across the foyer. “Well, come on through to the waiting room, Mr…”   
  
“Hummel,” Kurt answers, gingerly shutting the door as he steps inside. “Kurt Hummel.” He feels strangely formal, introducing himself to a kid this way - at least it’s good practice for heading back to McKinley tomorrow morning.

Kurt follows the girl into a tastefully furnished living room. Again, he is begrudgingly charmed by the interior design choices of the Smythes - he admires the inclusion of a chaise lounge and the way they’ve picked it out in a shade of mauve that perfectly matches the couches. He’d love to know how they’ve managed to keep that glass coffee table free of streaks and finger-smudges, and the calla lilies in that ornate vase so fresh. 

“I’m Melissa,” the girl informs him, before curling up in the corner of the couch. She forms a tight little ball, everything but her head covered by her blanket. “I’d say you can call me Mel, or whatever, but I doubt we’ll be seeing each other again.” 

It doesn’t take Kurt long to realise why she might say such a thing. His eyes widen - despite what he’s about to ask of Sebastian, he really doesn’t want anybody thinking he’s the type to come all this way just for a booty call.  _ Ugh,  _ the idea alone is enough to make him cringe. “It’s not like that, I’m not here for--”

“Mhm, sure,” she looks at him with a smirk he could swear he’s seen before - all lingering dubiety about her relation to Sebastian vanishes with it. She reaches out of her little nest to grab the remote control at her side, cheerfully pressing play. “I’m not judging you, dude! Everybody’s got their, uh… Hobbies.” 

He’d love to dispute that suggestion, but Kurt’s attention is quickly captured by the (unnecessarily large) screen, and he holds back an audible gasp. “Project Runway?”

“Mhm,” She says, to Kurt’s delight. She sounds apologetic, and Kurt refuses to let her look down on herself for being a young woman of culture. “I can change it if that’s a problem--”

“Absolutely not! This is season 4, isn’t it?”

Melissa’s nods, her excitement palpable. “You’ve seen it?” 

“Of course, it’s one of the best.” He remembers this season in particular for getting him through his freshman year of high school, alongside his trusty sewing machine. “This episode… Oh! It’s the avant-garde challenge!”

“Certainly is,” Melissa confirms, looking up at Kurt as though he hung the stars. She pats the spot beside her and, unable to resist reliving some of his personal favourite moments in TV history, he takes it. From here, he can see the front door perfectly through the window, where the girl next to him must have watched his internal conflict play itself out. That must have been a barrel of laughs. “So, you really like this stuff? Fashion?” She asks, stealing his focus away from his chagrin. 

When he looks at Melissa expecting to see the usual disgust that comes with openly admitting to his interests, it’s not there. On the contrary, Melissa is overjoyed. 

“What, you couldn’t tell by my outfit?” He asks in mock-offence, which pulls a giggle out of her. Kurt’s smile widens as he shifts to let himself get a little more comfortable, sinking into the plush cushions behind him. “There are very few things I like more, Christian being one of them…”

“He’s fantastic, isn’t he? I already know he wins, I’ve watched this, like, a million times… Although I think Jillian is a very close second choice.” Melissa chatters enthusiastically, her concentration bouncing between Kurt and the TV. She looks a lot perkier than she did when she answered the door, and Kurt can imagine why - he always felt so ecstatic whenever he found somebody willing to discuss the wonderful world of couture at her age, still trapped in the vortex of flannel and mom-jeans otherwise known as midwestern Ohio. He’s perfectly happy to provide that experience for the youth of today. Even though his life in New York gives him bountiful opportunities to indulge that side of himself, he’ll never turn one down. “I just love how bold he went with this one, don’t you?”

“Agreed, 100%. The colour, the craftsmanship, it all fits the model so perfectly… He knew how to take these challenges and really run with them.” He chuckles warmly at Melissa’s eager nod as the contestants fuss over their projects. Melissa surges forwards, reaching out of her cocoon to grab a large bowl resting on the table. She scoops a handful of popcorn out of it before holding it in Kurt’s direction, and he gladly accepts her generosity.

As the show continues they end up talking over most of it between bites, exchanging their thoughts both complimentary and scornful ( _ “I mean, it’s like she’s trying to get herself kicked off. Did she wear earplugs to the brief?” “Even I could do better. I’ve never actually made anything, but I think she could’ve…” _ ) until Kurt hears the telltale thuds of somebody approaching, reminding him that he did not, in fact, drive almost two hours out of his way to discuss the merits of different fabrics with a teenager he’s never met before. 

It’s funny, Kurt thinks, how something as simple as somebody’s footsteps can tell you how they’re feeling. It proves handy in all sorts of situations - he learned that much from moving in with Blaine. Are they quiet, shambling, and slow? He’s tired, it’s been a long day, it’s the right moment for tender words and gestures that match them. Are they light, steady, and upbeat? He’s just gotten some good news, and he’s going to have a lot to say about it. Are they loud, staggered, and unnerving? He’s pissed off, and whether it’s on Kurt’s shoulders or some other hapless fool’s, giving him space is the easiest way to avoid unnecessary conflict.

Sebastian’s are rushed, hurried like he’s got somewhere urgent to be, until he skids to a halt just outside the living room. “Lissa, is this really important? Because I have coursework I could be doing--...You.” His eyes land on Kurt, and immediately narrow into slits.

Melissa looks between them, then grabs the popcorn bowl, pulling it into her lap. 

“Hi, Sebastian,” Kurt stands up quickly, haphazardly brushing off any crumbs that may be clinging to his clothes - this situation is unpalatable enough without Kurt looking scruffy. Sebastian doesn’t seem to have the same concerns though; his hair is mussed, sticking up every which way, and Kurt’s pretty sure his shirt buttons aren’t in the correct holes. “I’m sorry to show up out of the blue so late, but--”

“Not as late as they usually are,” Melissa chimes in, aiming a teasing smile in her brother’s direction.

“Lissa,” he chides, but he sounds more fond than stern. Melissa sticks her tongue out, which Sebastian immediately mimics. Kurt suppresses a smile at the goofy looks on their faces - watching them interact makes him acutely aware that he’s barged into a family’s home, and he doesn’t want to seem like he’s enjoying it too much. He’s here strictly for business purposes. The icy indifference that washes over Sebastian the second he looks at Kurt again reinforces that, tells him he needs to get on with it.

“There’s something I need to ask you about. Do you have a second...?” The confidence in his voice wavers as Sebastian’s stare grows more and more loathing with every word. 

He takes his sweet time mulling it over, leaving Kurt plenty of time to overthink - but he has no idea what he thinks of Sebastian anymore. Their little squabble in the Scandals restroom could easily have ended as just that - a forgettable altercation to bitch about with Rachel later - but it didn’t. He brought Kurt home, let him rant about whatever the hell he felt like, and made him breakfast the next morning before abruptly asking him to leave, bouncing between the crass boy Kurt remembers and a man he knows nothing about. Kurt thought that would be it - he drove away yesterday thinking he’d live the rest of his life Smythe-free, with no need to look back or question any of it, only to throw himself back into it the very next day. Now he’s got to deal with this feeling, like he’s scratched the surface of two different people with no idea which one is real: the one who cared enough to help him out of that tight spot, or the one looking at him now, like he’s a bug waiting to be crushed underfoot, the way he might have looked at Kurt three years ago. He can only hope the former is still around, willing to hear him out and do him one more favour.

Whichever Sebastian he’s talking to rakes a hand through his unkempt hair, looking torn. He glances back the way he came, tapping his foot restlessly - when his eyes meet Kurt’s again he must sense his desperation. “I guess you’d better make it quick, then.”

Melissa, still munching away, looks very interested in hearing whatever Kurt has to say next. Unfortunately for her, he feels like keeping his dilemma as private as possible. His eyes flicker pointedly between her and Sebastian, who gets the hint soon enough. He shrugs, pivots on his heel, and walks away without checking to see if Kurt’s following. 

Kurt, of course, does follow - stopping only to call out “it was lovely meeting you, Melissa!” before he’s out of her earshot. 

“And you!” She chirps in response, even though he’s already dashed off after Sebastian. 

He catches up on the stairs, his mouth suddenly feeling drier than the last time his dad attempted to cook a turkey, (it was a valiant effort, and Kurt cleared his plate with the help of a few pints of water) most likely because it’s about to really be put to the test. The tension in Sebastian’s shoulders is visible to Kurt from the few steps he trails behind, and it tells him that he’s going to have to pick his words carefully. 

Sebastian pauses once he reaches the landing - looking strangely unsure of himself considering he lives here - before tugging open the nearest door to his left. He holds it open, gesturing for Kurt to head through first. 

Kurt doesn’t know what he was expecting Sebastian’s room to be like - a depraved sex dungeon, perhaps, or mountains of empty liquor bottles - but what he’s seeing doesn’t match up. He steps onto a too-thick white carpet and fights the urge to tear the hideous beige wallpaper down with his bare hands. He’s glad that it’s clean, but it’s sterile like a laboratory. Kurt would go insane if he had to spend more than half an hour here. 

“Your room is…” He tries to think of a genuine compliment, he really does, but ‘ _ barren _ ’ and ‘ _ ordinary _ ’ and ‘ _ completely unsuited to you _ ’ don’t sound very flattering in his head. “Nice.”

Sebastian rolls his eyes, now leant against the closed door. “Cut the crap, Hummel. You hate it as much as I do.”

“You hate your own bedroom?”    
  


“Oh, I love  _ my _ room. It’s this guest room I’ve got issues with. There’s a reason Aunt Pamela always stays in this one,” he gestures sweepingly at their lacklustre surroundings. “It’s because Aunt Pamela’s a bitch.”

If Sebastian brought him here for the sole purpose of insinuating that he’s a bitch, then Kurt is wholly unimpressed. It is, however, annoyingly effective at putting him on edge. 

  
“Are you afraid I’d try to snag a souvenir from your princely chambers?” Kurt’s words are laced with sarcasm, and if he’s a little mad at himself for slipping so quickly to his default of bickering with Sebastian, well, he may as well use it for impact. “Trust me, I’m not poor or desperate enough to get my hands on anything of yours--”

“Do you ever stop jumping to conclusions?” Sebastian cuts him off, looking too smug for his own good. “My room is currently occupied, and I’d like to get back to it, so if we could just wrap this up...” The suggestive lilt in his voice, the state of his hair, his shirt being as wonky as it is - it all adds up.   
  


“Really, Sebastian? That’s your sister downstairs, isn’t it? I can’t believe I actually underestimated your debauchery...” 

Sebastian doesn’t seem the least bit fazed by Kurt’s reaction, but there’s the slightest shift in his stance like he’s stepped on something sharp. “My dad and stepmom are out at some ass-kissing do, and Lissa’s supposed to be at a sleepover - so yes, I invited a guy over. Sue me. No, seriously, sue me. My dad’s still a state’s attorney, and I could use a good laugh.” He speaks like he’s cracking a joke, but there’s a wave of anger seeping through it. 

Kurt’s knee-jerk response is to turn his nose up, and he can feel his features reflexively scrunching with abhorrence. There are times when he knows better than that, and times when his dad’s rudimentary advice pushes his way to the forefront - the idea that sex is never just sex, that there’s always going to be some undetermined danger lurking around the corner if you let those things just happen - and his history with Sebastian always pushes him towards the latter. 

His disdain doesn’t go unnoticed. “You’re not the first person to judge me for sleeping around, Kurt, but I really couldn’t give a shit. Everything I do is safe, and - brace yourself - fun! I know that might be a difficult concept for you to wrap your head around, but--”

  
Kurt refuses to match Sebastian’s rising volume, but he’s not worried about sounding just as heated. “You were never the first person to judge me either, Sebastian. If Saturday morning was any indication, you still seem to be under the impression that I’m some kind of… Sexless monk who’s never had a good time.” 

Blaine was the first person to say as much to his face. That was different though; there was some truth to it back then. 

Sebastian’s animosity falters for a split second until his gaze hardens to steel, cold and unfeeling. “Fine,” he says much quieter, although the irritation in his words is still heavy. “Maybe I made some assumptions of my own. The key difference is that you’re here to ask me for something, so if I were you, I’d keep your opinions on what I do as a rational consenting adult to yourself.”

Kurt might have something to say about the inclusion of ‘rational’ there, but Sebastian is correct about one thing - he needs to get back on task. 

“Okay, um…” Kurt begins eloquently, wringing his hands together.  _ Hm. _ Maybe arguing with Sebastian and getting himself kicked out again is the more appealing option, after all. It sounds a lot better than being even the slightest bit vulnerable, but no, he has to remember what’s on the line here. His dignity, and his first love. “Do you remember what we were talking about? On Saturday, just before I left?”

“Oh, that?” Sebastian folds his arms over his chest, “You mean when I made a stupid joke, and you proceeded to talk down to me like I’ve got all the societal value of an inflatable sex-doll?” 

_ Oh. _

Kurt is taken aback. That wasn’t an intentional implication on his part - he knows it’s none of his business what, or who, Sebastian does, he couldn’t care less about it - but he can’t pretend he’s never unfairly voiced his bias against the no strings attached approach. Hell, he did that less than five minutes ago, didn’t he? He hasn’t let go of his dreadful first impressions of Sebastian even though he’s taken the slightest peek past them now in an alcoholic haze, and it seems they’ve brought out the judgmental bastard in him. It’s not his own shortcomings that shock him. It’s the faintest glimpse of hurt he sees in Sebastian. It doesn’t feel good to see him riled up like this the way it might have in high school though - there’s nothing playful or engaging about it, it’s not a battle of wits, it’s not comeuppance, it’s not satisfying. Kurt just feels like an asshole.

“Sebastian, that’s not what I--”

“Save it. I know exactly what you were thinking. Just ask already, so that I can say no, and we can all go back to our regularly scheduled lives.” He’s staring daggers at Kurt, he can feel them nicking at his skin. Sebastian’s still trying to look unbothered by it all, but that mask may as well be made of glass. Kurt’s already seen through it.

It’s clear that Sebastian doesn’t want to hear an apology or even an explanation for the comments Kurt has made about his choices. Again, Kurt has to stow away his pride. That’s what got him into this mess, so maybe kicking it to the curb will help him navigate it. 

“I spoke to Blaine, and I just… I panicked. Even if he still has feelings for me, he’s doing an amazing job at hiding them, and he knows exactly how to bring out my competitive side, so--”

“Spit it out, Hummel.”

“I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend for a night.”

There it is. 

Kurt screws his eyes shut, waiting to hear a cartoonishly evil laugh or to be thrown out through the window, but Sebastian stays silent. 

When Kurt looks up, Sebastian’s arms are still crossed tightly, and his scowl is… Disappointed. From what Kurt can see, he’s the type of pissed off a person might be after paying a little too much to see an overhyped, shitty movie.

“You made that sound like the most repulsive scenario you could possibly imagine when I suggested it,” Sebastian says - but even though he sounds tetchy, it’s not an outright no. Not yet. 

“As I said, I panicked,” Kurt speaks a lot faster now that he sees the slightest chance for this to actually work. “But, really, it wasn’t too crazy for him to believe! He totally fell for it - I know it sounds strange, but it actually makes sense for Blaine. He’s a sucker for competition, and I guess the thought of me being with you is his equivalent of me having to watch him drool over Karofsky.”

“It shouldn’t be, though,” Sebastian mutters, averting his gaze. “I was worse to you than I was to him, most of the time. If it wasn’t for that screw-up with the slushie, I don’t think he ever would’ve cut ties with me.” 

Kurt finds himself offended on Blaine’s behalf. It’s a sore spot - everything to do with Sebastian and Blaine’s short-lived friendship is a sore spot - and it’s a pain that leaves him feeling defensive. “I know you never thought I was good enough for him, but he’s not a horrible person. If you had put me in the hospital instead of him, he wouldn’t--”

“It wouldn’t have put  _ you  _ in the hospital, though. That was never the plan.”

“You put rock salt in it! What else were you expecting to happen?”

“Your outfit to be destroyed, for one,” Sebastian says cryptically. When it becomes apparent that Kurt can’t tell what would make that different from a regular slushie, he sighs his resignation. “Do you know what rock salt does to ice?”

“Turns it into a weapon?”

“I didn’t think it would. It’s supposed to melt the ice and make the liquid colder at the same time, by lowering the melting point. The dye spreads more, ruins whatever Versace shit you’re wearing, and still leaves you freezing cold.” Sebastian meets his eyes, and it’s frustratingly convincing. “That’s all it was meant to do. If the hobbit hadn’t leapt into it, it wouldn’t have touched anybody’s eyes, unless my trajectory was totally off.” 

Kurt can’t keep up with the strange power balance he and Sebastian are teetering on. One minute Kurt is treading lightly, trying to convince Sebastian to help him fix his mistakes, and the next he’s listening to Sebastian explaining his own.

He doesn’t have to say it explicitly now, the regret reaches out through his slumped posture, the tightness of his jaw, the solemn look in his eyes simply asking Kurt to believe it when he says: “I was aiming for your shirt.” 

Kurt stays silent for a moment. Sebastian’s intentions don’t change the outcome - it was still insane, reckless, idiotic of him - but when he imagines Blaine standing in front of him, the logistics add up. Kurt can’t help but wonder what would have happened if Sebastian had hit his intended target. Would Blaine still be texting him constantly? Would they have continued meeting up for coffee not-dates without inviting Kurt? He wishes he could say no with certainty. 

It would be a lot less complicated if he could just ignore Sebastian’s version of events, but those words keep popping up in Kurt’s mind -  _ young, angry, bored.  _ The sincerity with which he says it all makes it feel true.

“It was still an incredibly shitty thing to do,” Kurt states plainly. He knows Sebastian can read between the lines, though - Kurt will accept that, maybe, his intentions weren’t as violent as his actions. He won’t excuse the past, but he will let it stay in the past - for now. 

“I’m not trying to say it wasn’t.” He shrugs casually, knocking off any remnants of candidness. Now that he’s gotten that off his conscience, he seems to be willing his usual arrogant disposition back to life. “Now, that’s enough sidetracking. You should probably go - we’re done here, aren’t we?”

Kurt shakes his head as the balance shifts again in an instant. It takes all of his willpower to keep himself from backing down under Sebastian’s stare. “Not until you give me a real answer.”

Sebastian scoffs. It’s a sardonic, forceful sound, and Kurt can tell he’s trying to get him to give up. “From what you’ve told me, Blaine’s only playing along for the chance to ‘win’ your break-up, and nobody else is going to fall for it.”

“We could convince them,” Kurt tries - it can’t hurt to stroke his ego a little, even if it goes against his instincts. He knows Sebastian likes to put on a show - at least, it seemed that way in high school. “We’re both natural performers.”

“Not that natural,” Sebastian counters - whether he’s talking about Kurt or himself is hard to decipher. Either way, Kurt won’t cave that easily.

“My enrolment at NYADA says otherwise.” If Kurt sounds a little full of himself, then so be it; he worked damn hard to land that spot and even harder to keep it.

“Ooh, how could I forget? New York’s Assemblage of Dramatic Assholes. Excuse me while I swoon.” Sebastian drawls, his voice dripping with tedium. Such tends to be the reaction of people who have heard of it, and know they couldn’t get in - Kurt would love to say so aloud, but he’s keenly aware of how it might harm his standing in this tête-à-tête.

No - meeting him head-on will only prolong their little skirmish because Sebastian won’t be able to resist having the last word. There’s a little flare of determination in his eyes to prove it. He’s going to have to take the excruciating path of submission.

“Please, Sebastian.” Kurt forces himself to drop his bravado, as terrifying as the prospect is. He realises now that he’s given Sebastian every reason to dismiss him already, but he hasn’t, not fully. Maybe it’s just because he wants to see Kurt squirm a little longer, as the preconceived notions he’s been clinging to might suggest, or maybe he still feels like he owes Kurt for all that’s transpired between them. Whatever it is, Kurt is going to appeal to the bits and pieces of a better nature he’s been noticing and trying to ignore since Sebastian got him out of that awful bar. “I know I’m asking for a lot, and that there’s nothing in it for you. If there’s a way to make it worth your while, I’ll do it, I’m sure we can figure something out. I just… I can’t face Blaine as I am now. If he realises what a mess I’ve become, all those years would be for nothing, and I… I’ll beg if I have to, on my knees. That’s how desperate I am.”

Kurt’s nails dig into his palms, biting into his skin. He’s starting to feel light-headed with those truths swirling in the air between him, and the person who knows how to use his insecurities as torture devices better than anyone else. He could rip Kurt to shreds right now, if he chose to.

But he doesn’t.

The distinct sound of a distant door slamming shut breaks the static atmosphere, scaring Kurt out of his skin. A few muffled voices follow, and Sebastian’s thoughtful stare becomes a wicked smirk.

“Right now, I see two ways for you to get me on board the Titanic 2.0,” Sebastian says, completely nonchalant, even though Kurt’s hanging off of every word. It seems all-out pleading was the way to go the whole time. Kurt nods for him to continue, itching to strike a deal already. “Option 1,” he holds up a finger, “beg, if you really want it that badly. See if you can actually draw some pity out of me - but I assure you, that won’t be easy. I’m pretty sure I used up my yearly sympathy quota when I found you sobbing into the urinal cakes at Scandals.” 

Kurt wants to object that he was nowhere near the urinals, but upon further thought, the stalls aren’t much more dignified, and he’d like to hear his second choice. 

“Option 2,” he raises a second finger and dons a grin that’s nothing short of shit-eating. Before he says anything, Kurt knows this is what Sebastian wants him to pick. “We make a bet. You seem to think you’d be able to convince people that we’re… A thing.”

Kurt could be offended by the revulsion in Sebastian’s voice, but he knows it’s an echo of his own sentiments from the last time they spoke. He bites the inside of his cheek and nods.

“Does that include everyone?”

Kurt isn’t sure where this is going, but he’s sure it’ll beat kneeling before Sebastian like a peasant before his king. “Try me,” he says, with a confidence that can only be forged in the fires of NYADA’s intensive improvisation classes.

“Perfect,” Sebastian says, and that’s how Kurt knows he’s signed himself up for chaos - nothing but trouble seems to follow that word lately. Sebastian steps forward and grasps his wrist before Kurt can register what’s going on, and then they’re on the landing again. If the lights were dimmer, and the air around them much louder, this scenario would feel eerily familiar. When he wins this bet, once he understands what exactly this bet  _ is,  _ he’s going to tell Sebastian exactly what he thinks of being whisked around so much.

They zip down the stairs in tandem; it’s not hard for Kurt to keep up. Sebastian’s grip is firm, guiding, but loose enough for Kurt to break it if he so wishes, and he notices Sebastian’s free hand keeping them both steady on the bannister.

Kurt blinks, and then he’s stood in front of the living room door once more, only this time Sebastian sets a hand on his shoulder fleetingly, the way his old glee club cohorts might have to settle their nerves before a competition. Kurt has no time to think on it though because Sebastian is reaching over him to push the door open, and then the spotlight hits him.

Well, no, it’s a regular ceiling light, but it might as well be. Three faces turn to examine him, each displaying one of his biggest fears for a performance.

Melissa is recognisable, at least, but her brows are furrowed in genuine confusion at the sight of him - he’s always worried about landing a role and stepping out onto the stage, only to be met by an audience that simply can’t understand how he’s made it that far. 

The woman next to her is a little more daunting. Her eyes are wide and she’s biting her lip, barely keeping her mirth under wraps. Her blonde hair is pulled up in an elegant updo reminiscent of Audrey Hepburn à la Breakfast at Tiffany’s, most likely to show off her pearl earrings and a necklace that looks like it could cover the expenses of Kurt’s degree, twice. She looks fabulous, important, like the last kind of person Kurt would want to laugh at him, and she’s clearly trying to keep herself from doing exactly that. It’s an old worry beaten into him by his high school years, where he was everybody’s walking punchline. 

Last, and worst, is a middle-aged man wearing a suit Kurt recognises from Dolce & Gabbana’s last fall collection, and a look of utter exasperation he recognises from his worst nightmares. Everything else he can handle,_ has _handled a million times before, but it’s a rare thing for Kurt Hummel to bore somebody. His hair is a shade darker than Sebastian’s, greying here and there, and his eyes are a sharp hue of gunmetal blue, but there’s a solid resemblance between them that links them indisputably as father and son. The strongest similarity between them, though, is how badly Kurt immediately wants to prove his boredom wrong. 

“Sebastian…” The man leans forward, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We’ve talked about this enough times for you to know that this isn’t appropriate.” 

Melissa snorts audibly, and the woman Kurt presumes to be her mother (their eyes are almost worryingly identical) gives her arm a playful swat. She clears her throat with a pointed look at the man sitting across from her. “I think what my husband is trying to say,” she graciously acknowledges Kurt’s existence with a courteous smile, “is hello, and that it’s lovely to meet you - even if we have asked Sebastian to keep his, um… ‘Guests’, to himself.”

“Which I have  _ tried  _ to do,” Sebastian blurts out, and that hand is back on Kurt’s shoulder again, causing him to turn and see a taut smirk on his face. “Would still be trying to do, in fact, if Kurt weren’t here for a slightly different reason than most.”

Suddenly, Kurt is looking out at a room full of scepticism. For a second he can’t believe that Sebastian brings men home so often that his own parents can’t fathom him inviting somebody over for any other reason, but then he remembers that there’s some guy hidden away in his room as they speak. Right now, that poor schmuck doesn’t matter; Kurt has minds to change. 

“Babe,” Kurt says, his lower lip jutting out as he looks up at Sebastian, “you haven’t even told them about me yet? I know you like taking people by surprise,” he sets a hand over the one lingering on his shoulder, pouring all the false affection he can muster into his gaze, “but that’s a bit too much, don’t you think?”

Kurt is met with stunned silence on all fronts, and from behind. Sebastian still looks smug but from this distance, Kurt sees the subtle twist of shock there, feels the tightening grip on his shoulder the same way he did in Scandals, and from that Kurt can tell Sebastian wasn’t expecting him to actually go along with this. Was he meant to chicken out? To buckle at the first hint of pressure? It just goes to show how little Sebastian really knows about him.

The man and woman’s eyes are locked in a silent conversation, and although Kurt certainly doesn’t know either of them the way they know each other, the incredulity is plain to see. It doesn’t look good. 

When Kurt looks at Melissa again she’s frowning at her lap, as though she’s piecing a puzzle together. That is until it all seems to click into place for her and she meets Kurt’s eyes, her smile devious in a way that makes him sure she’s figured him out, on the verge of busting the whole ordeal wide open, but: 

“...Holy shit--”   
  
“Melissa! Language!”

“Sorry, mom! I just— Sorry in advance this time, beloved parents of mine, but  _ holy shit,  _ Seb!” Melissa waves her hands for emphasis, gesturing wildly at her brother. “How the hell did you pull this off?”

Kurt laughs - he can’t help it - but he catches himself as it bubbles out, softens the sound until it takes the shape of adoration. “Oh, I certainly didn’t make it easy,” Kurt answers on behalf of a still-reeling Sebastian - if he has to carry this act by himself for now, then he’s going to give it his all. He slaps on his sappiest smile as he looks up at his supposed beau. “But there’s a gentleman buried in there somewhere.”

That grip on his shoulder tightens again. Kurt gives it a light squeeze, urging him to ease the pressure, and it's then that Kurt notices the warmth radiating off of him. At this moment Kurt isn’t totally sure what to make of it, but this time last year he would have been floored. Back then, Sebastian Smythe was nothing more than a cold amalgamation of his spiteful words in Kurt's eyes, shaped to closely resemble a human being. It's difficult to think about a person that way when you're stood directly in front of their parents, though. 

A high pitched squeal brings Kurt back to the present, and he really wasn’t expecting to hear that from a full-grown woman. 

“Oh my goodness…” She lets out a grandiose sigh, and Kurt’s glad that she’s sat down - it seems like she just might faint. “You’ll have to forgive me, dear,” she addresses Kurt again, “but we’ve been hoping this day would come along, and Sebastian, I’m simply ecstatic for you. Look at him! He’s so… Dashing!” 

“Isn’t he just?” Sebastian says, but it seems Kurt is the only one picking up on how forced it is. 

If Kurt has ever been described as dashing before he was never made aware of it, and he decides in an instant that he likes this woman. “Thank you, Mrs Smythe—”

In an instant, the woman in question is up on her feet. “Oh no, absolutely not!” She admonishes, and for a second Kurt is petrified and incredibly confused as to what he did to earn it. She marches over and, rather than reprimanding Kurt as she seems so intent on doing, holds out a hand for him to shake. “Grace,” she instructs him gently, the sternness dropped for a beaming smile. “I insist that you call me Grace-- Kurt, was it?.”

Kurt lets go of Sebastian’s hand to accept her introduction, trying not to look too astounded by her height - he’s certain she can’t be any taller than 5’2” now that she’s up close. She’s positively dwarfed by her family, but her handshake is strong.

“It was,” he nods, trying to keep himself from getting cocky. Despite how sure Sebastian seemed upstairs, Grace seems ready to believe anything Kurt says. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Grace. You have a lovely home.”

“Oh, Sebastian, he’s a sweetheart!” Grace peers around Kurt, giving her son ( _ stepson,  _ Kurt reminds himself,  _ Sebastian definitely said stepmom upstairs _ ) what she thinks is a discrete thumbs-up. “Although I can’t take credit for any of the decor, that was all— Thomas, I think it’s about time you introduce yourself to your son’s boyfriend!” That’s it - he didn’t even have to say the word himself, but Grace has embraced the idea at full throttle. 

Sebastian’s father stands, and by Kurt’s definition, the bet is won. 

He approaches with long confident strides that are, admittedly, a little intimidating, but he loses that aura when he wraps an arm around his wife’s waist, his gaze for her so saccharine that Kurt fears he’ll leave this house with cavities.

Kurt shakes his hand in kind. “Yet another pleasure, Mr Smythe.”

“Thomas,” Kurt finds himself corrected again, now subject to a searching stare. “You’ll have to forgive us, Kurt, we really had no idea we’d be having the pleasure of meeting you this evening - or anyone, for that matter.” Thomas raises an eyebrow at his son and there are a million questions to it, but Kurt’s preoccupied with the little similarities in the way Sebastian and his father hold themselves - it’s such a rigid, upright posture that he’s certain it’s been passed down deliberately. 

“Melissa, I would have thought you’d be dying to meet the man who’s managed to tie Seb down…” Grace says, although the look she’s giving her daughter roughly translates to ‘ _ get your butt over here and introduce yourself, pronto. _ ’

“No need.” She’s been happily watching their exchanges for a while now, Kurt realises, with that same devious smile that leaves him unsettled - even if he’s not entirely sure why. She was the first to embrace Kurt’s lies, and they’ve already bonded a little over their matching stellar taste in TV shows. “Kurt Hummel and I are already well acquainted.”

“Hummel? Hummel…” Thomas’ brows furrow in thought. “I’m certain I’ve heard that name before—”

“Kurt!” Sebastian cuts his father off, taking a few steps back from the scene. Kurt turns to watch him, his eyes darting from face to face, foot tapping impatiently on the ground once more. He’s anxious, but Kurt can’t tell if it’s because he’s definitely lost their bet, or because he’s remembered the poor sap he’s left high and dry in his room. “As lovely as all the small-talk is, you need to get going, don’t you? It’s a long drive back to Lima.”

Sebastian sounds rather urgent. Kurt has achieved all he set out to, and if Sebastian wants him gone he’s happy to oblige if it means he gets what he wants. 

“Lima?” Grace sounds appalled. “That’s too long a drive, Sebastian, don’t you think he ought to stay?”

The prospect of spending another night at Sebastian’s right now is nauseating, but Kurt is far too professional to let it show on his face. “That sounds wonderful, but ‘Bastian’s right. I’ve got to be up at the crack of unreasonable for work, so…”

Shortening his name was a stroke of genius if the reactions are anything to go by. Melissa and Grace exchange what looks like a set of silent shrieks and Thomas is wearing a smirk that must be hereditary, given the number of times Kurt’s seen it already today.

“Well then,  _ ‘Bastian _ , I suppose you ought to see this gentleman out.” His father’s faint wrinkles are the only giveaway of his age as he chuckles teasingly at his son. 

“Will do, old man _ , _ ” Sebastian teases back, holding the door open for Kurt to step through.

“We’ll see you again soon, I’m sure, dear.” Grace smiles so warmly at him that he almost wishes it were true - almost. It’ll be for the best when Sebastian tells them the truth though. 

He’s smart enough to follow Sebastian’s cue, but he refuses to be impolite about it. “It was lovely meeting you all.” 

Kurt steps out of the room, meaning to bid them farewell with a courteous nod, but before Sebastian shuts the door he jams his foot between it and the frame. 

“Melissa?” He says, and she immediately looks up. Even though he’ll never see her again he senses that she’s a kindred spirit of sorts, and there’s something she mentioned earlier that struck a chord with him. “That idea you had, the improved version of Kit’s dress? Do it, draw it. Doesn’t matter if it’s not perfect yet.” 

With that, Kurt shuts the door himself, meeting Sebastian’s questioning gaze with an innocent smile. 

He doesn’t care to actually question anything - Sebastian storms through the labyrinth of his family’s home, expecting Kurt to follow once more. He doesn’t waste a second yanking the front door open, although he shuts it slowly behind them. Kurt wonders if it’s to stall for time, so he can find a way to worm out of honouring the bet he proposed now that they’re far enough from his family.

“Well,” Kurt probably shouldn’t sound as proud as he does - lying is a nasty habit that he intends to ditch once this charade has fulfilled its purpose, but he’s pleased that his acting skills haven’t gotten rusty. “What did I tell you? Carmen Tibideaux herself would’ve wept for that performance.”

“I have no idea who that is,” which is a despicable thing to say, “and I’m still not doing it.” That’s even worse.

“What? Why?” Kurt isn’t shocked by Sebastian’s backtracking, but he’s not happy about it either. “I convinced everyone. Those were your terms, and I met them. A bet is a bet, Smythe.”

“I didn’t think you’d actually do it! And— At the end of the day, this is all about you and Blaine getting back together, isn’t it?” He asks, and Kurt nods. Sebastian doesn’t hesitate for even a second afterwards. “Then no. I don’t think it’s a relationship worth saving.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“Anybody who makes you feel so insecure that you have to lie like that isn’t good for you.”

_ What would you know about relationships anyway? _ That’s what Kurt wants to ask, but this is his last shot at securing Sebastian’s commitment to this facade. He knows what he’s doing this for, and Sebastian’s opinions can not and will not change that. Clearly, Kurt’s going to need to learn to play the diplomat.

“Haven’t we already established that it’s a bad idea for us to make judgements about one another? My love life falls under that as well.” A silence hangs between them, and Kurt feels like he’s on the precipice of finally sealing the deal. “Come on, it’s just one stupid reunion. After that, I swear, I’ll never bother you again.”

“A reunion for what?” Sebastian asks, and the ball drops for Kurt. 

‘ _ If there’s something happening between you and Sebastian, I see no reason for you two to not come along. _ ’ Isn’t that what Blaine said?

“Oh, no...” 

Kurt was a Warbler for, what, a month? And the thought of them all getting together without him felt dreadful. Sebastian was with them for years, he was their captain for at least one of them - and Blaine hasn’t so much as CC’d him in an email. It should be easy to break the bad news to somebody he’s not particularly fond of, but it isn't; the look of earnest confusion on his face draws out sympathy from Kurt like a magnet. Somebody has to be honest with him. 

“I’m sorry, Sebastian. It’s for the Warblers. It’s probably my fault, it was supposed to be an engagement thing, and Blaine must have thought that inviting you would make me paranoid.”

Sebastian nods slowly, his face unreadable. Another torturous silence follows, and Kurt feels awful for it. If it was still a party celebrating all things ‘Klaine,’ Kurt wouldn’t have thought twice about not inviting Sebastian. He would have been glad for Blaine’s judgement - but that’s not the case anymore, is it?

That settles it. “Give me your number.”

“Come again?”

“I’m going to need it,” Kurt pulls his phone out of his pocket, thrusting it towards a perplexed Sebastian insistently. “once Blaine tells me where and when this thing is happening, I’ll let you know. Even if I’m too mortified to show my face, you should be there. You were their leader, for crying out loud!”

Sebastian scrutinises Kurt intently. Before too long, he feels like he’s been put under a microscope. He doesn’t drop his stare until he takes Kurt’s phone and starts typing.

Huh. Swapping numbers may have been Kurt’s idea, but he was fully expecting him to laugh in his face and tell him to leave. 

He definitely  _ wasn’t _ expecting Sebastian to take a cross-eyed, tongue-out selfie with his phone.

Kurt takes it back from Sebastian, who stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jeans. The picture is almost cute if not a little poorly lit, but it’s the name he’s saved himself under that catches Kurt’s eye.

“ _ ‘Hubby’ _ ? Why would you--”

“If anybody sees you calling me, it’s best for me to have a convincing name, don’t you think?” Sebastian asks, with the barest hint of a smile. “I’ll do it.”

“Really? You’re not screwing with me - you’re serious?” Kurt asks, because after the rollercoaster this day has been he doesn’t trust his ears on good news like that. 

“Like you said, a bet is a bet.” Sebastian shrugs, swiftly forcing the smile away. “Besides, it’s just one night, and... Once a Warbler, always a Warbler. It might be the lamest party ever thrown in the history of Dalton, but we both have a right to be there.”

Kurt nods vigorously, the relief flooding his face in the form of a wide grin. “Thank you, Sebastian! Just that one night, I swear.” God, Kurt could hug him.

“Now, get out of here,” Sebastian says, playfully shooing Kurt away with his hands before jabbing his thumb behind him, pointing towards the house. “I need to break the bad news to those guys that I’m just working on my improv skills.”

“And get back to the stowaway in your room?”

Sebastian’s eyes widen, and Kurt wonders if he had actually forgotten for a while. “Of course,” his smirk returns, “I’ll just have to keep him busy until it’s late enough to sneak him out.”

“I’ll let you go, then. I’m sure he’s wasting away up there without you.” Kurt can’t help teasing, but thankfully, Sebastian seems amused. Not wanting to push his luck, Kurt steps off of the veranda, taking slow steps backwards. “Goodnight, Sebastian. I’ll see you for that party.”

Kurt considers waving, an action bordering on genuine friendliness, but keeps his palms at his sides. They’re not at each other’s throats now that they’ve come to this resolution, but Kurt doesn’t want to push his luck. Instead, he maintains polite eye contact until even that starts to feel like too much, and walking backwards starts to feel dangerous.

Kurt turns around, and only then does he let himself feel relief.

He’s staring at the newest contact page on his phone, letting it serve as concrete proof of this whole day being real. Now that he’s on his own, he finds himself quietly chuckling at it; hasn’t he made it abundantly clear to the world that he’s not looking to marry any time soon? Sebastian meant it as a joke, obviously, but if it’s going to work their fake relationship needs a dash of realism - and what’s more realistic than Kurt putting Sebastian in his place? With a smile far too self-satisfied for his circumstances, Kurt changes the name to  _ ‘Wishful Thinking.’  _

Kurt’s smile is dropped by the time he reaches the end of the driveway. This is a pyrrhic victory, isn’t it? All he’s won is a chance to lie to some old friends and the love of his life - and that’s if they’re successful. Would Blaine ever speak to him again if he figured it out? The only thing he’s guaranteed himself tonight is a co-conspirator.

He glances back towards the house before he turns onto the sidewalk, and is surprised to see Sebastian still lingering outside. The second Kurt begins to wonder why, the door opens, and then he’s gone. He can’t imagine the conversations that are about to take place inside - Sebastian’s family had seemed downright thrilled at the thought of him starting up something serious. Kurt can only speculate how Sebastian felt, standing and watching while Kurt fooled them - then again, he made that bet with the sole intention of putting Kurt off, and now he can undo it all with zero consequences. It’s still going to sit on Kurt’s conscience for a while though; he just hopes Sebastian lets them down easy.

He has a lot to process, and a lot to plan, but Kurt will know what to do when the time comes, he’s sure of it. For now, he has a few weeks to let his internship at McKinley dominate his life and distract him from the niggling guilt all this lying has conjured up. He’ll feel better when he can throw himself into his work, he always does, and the choir room was always a refuge for him. 

Well, maybe not always - but now that he’s at the head, he’s determined to shape the glee club into the safe haven it was meant to be, both for the students and himself while he tries to piece together the wreckage that was once his personal life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter out! Whew! 
> 
> I feel like saying how nervous I am every time this happens is getting old already, but hey, OCs aren't a thing I do very often! I am rather fond of them though (:
> 
> Also, huge thank you to Spicy_Cannoli_AKA_Lia who, aside from filling my comments with lovely support for a while now, was super helpful and read this through for me! 
> 
> We'll be heading back to McKinley next time! I feel like I should clarify here: some of the events that take place in this fic will be similar to canon, but a vast majority will be tweaked both to fit my plot and to give it some consistency. I value realism just a smidge more than whoever was in charge of S6, I think, so the timeline will stretch out a little!
> 
> https://alphabees-writes.tumblr.com <- There's me!


	4. Spinning The Web

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt's first day back at McKinley goes just about as well as anybody might expect - meaning, of course, it's an absolute nightmare.

It’s weird, being back at McKinley. 

It’s the same predictable place - the classrooms haven’t changed beyond the displays on their walls, the floors in the hallways still have that weird, slightly sticky quality, and every ten seconds he spots another Cheerio’s uniform, like always. There are varsity jackets too, of course, but he doesn’t want to dwell on that little ache in his heart when he sees those. 

All the changes, Kurt muses as he shuffles through sheet after sheet of showtunes, are coming from him. He hasn’t gotten much taller, but he’s grown in other ways; his shoulders are broader, his body is stronger, and he believes in himself in a way he never could while he was a student here. 

He still gets the occasional double-take, but they don’t make him feel small anymore. They just remind him that he’s doing the youth of Lima a favour by letting them know that, yes, jeans  _ do  _ come in colours other than blue. 

Thinking of them as ‘youths’ is making him feel old, though.

Rapidly ageing, however, is not his most pressing concern right now, because he could have sworn he already sorted  _ Summer Nights  _ into his  _ Mutual Pining _ pile twice already and— Oh. 

“Rachel,” he speaks up for the first time in several minutes - they’ve both been fastidiously sorting sheet music across the choir room for a while now. “How have you been organising these?” 

“Chronologically, of course.” She answers curtly, still crouched within a sea of papers as she glances up at him. “Why?”   
  
Kurt lets out a hearty sigh, setting his current pile on top of the piano, dejected. “I’ve been sorting them by emotion _ ,  _ the way music is  _ meant _ to be sorted!” 

“Oh,” Rachel says, in a tone somebody newly discovering this wouldn’t. “Well then,” she stands to her full height, her heels clicking at a snappy pace as she joins him by the piano, setting her stack of sheets on top of is. “Clearly, you should have  _ told me _ so.”

Kurt takes a moment to consider his friend - her folded arms, her razor-sharp stare, her pursed lips - and recognises all the usual signs of Rachel’s condition. It’s her  _ ‘I’m mad at you, but I’m not going to discuss why until you’ve magically figured it out on your own’  _ face.

“Alright, what’s going on with you? You’ve been weird all morning.” It’s true - she’s not had much to say to him since they arrived on campus, but he assumed that was down to nerves for their first real day on the job together. He’s been debating giving her a pep talk since the first bell rang, but evidently, that’s not what she wants from him right now. 

“I just think that there are an awful lot of things you haven’t been telling me lately, Kurt,” she begins rifling through the sheets again, and he prepares himself for an unnecessarily dramatic rant. “Like how your little meeting with Blaine went,” she picks another stack up, taking the longest strides her 4-inch pumps will allow towards the neat piles spanning the back of the room, “or where you went afterwards,” Kurt’s nerves stand on end as she stops beside his  _ Betrayal-Related Anguish _ pile, “or that you’ve been getting involved with Sebastian Smythe!”

With that, she sets her pile on top of his, this time with a harsh slam, and Kurt realises he’s screwed. 

He also realises, with a great deal of betrayal-related anguish, that she could only have heard this from Blaine. 

Kurt swallows thickly, resenting the thought of having to lie to Rachel too. Their friendship has been strained far enough by their lack of contact over the past few months, and he can’t see how he’s going to bridge the gap that’s grown between them with an argument over a new boyfriend he doesn’t actually have. He decides not to acknowledge it directly, instead pinning his hopes on Rachel developing a spontaneous case of amnesia. “I see you and Blaine have been talking.” 

“So you’re not denying it!” She raises an eyebrow, not taking the bait as he’d hoped. Maybe that was a lost cause in the first place; they’re both pretty stubborn, but it’s a miracle when anybody manages to outstay Rachel Berry. Still, before he relents to contain the rumour mill she apparently shares with Blaine, he has a few grievances of his own to air.

“And you’re not denying going behind my back to find this out!” Kurt counters. Rachel’s scowl softens after a beat, and she worries her bottom lip between her teeth. He doesn’t know whether or not he should feel vindicated by it. The thought of Rachel and Blaine huddled together, exchanging intel and deciding between them what glimpses of information they’ll grace Kurt with doesn’t sit right with him - but he’s only so determined to keep the details of his arrangement with Sebastian to himself because he knows he’s in the wrong for having one in the first place. 

He should have explicitly told Blaine to keep it quiet. It’s funny how just a little time apart can make you forget how clueless a person can be, Kurt thinks, although he won’t start laughing about it for a while yet. 

Rachel, as always, is quick to try to excuse herself. “We— Blaine and I, we were worried about you, Kurt! He needed somebody to talk to, and we’ve been talking a lot lately as it is. He’s been a real rock for me since I came out of hiding and back to Lima, and, well…” She gives a bashful shrug, “he’s my Seymour!”

“Your Seymour,” Kurt repeats lamely, his envy poorly hidden. This has always been Rachel’s thing - Blaine is the Tony to her Maria, the Seymour to her Audrey, and probably just about every other male lead under the sun, no matter how much time Kurt spends helping her run lines. “As in Little Shop of Horrors? Because I swear to Alan Menken if you’ve started eating people—”

“What? No! Wrong Audrey— That’s not the point, Kurt!” She huffs, click-click-clicking her way back to the piano. “The point is, he’s Sebastian Smythe!” She says, spitting the name out like poison. As if those 5 syllables are a complete point on their own. “I don’t understand why you’d do that to Blaine… And why you wouldn’t tell me about it!”

“You mean, the same way you didn’t warn me about Karofsky? You know, the guy who made me fear for my life, who chased me out of this school?” It’s so like Rachel to limit her thinking to her own perspective. Kurt’s seen her do this time and time again, but it doesn’t keep him from feeling hurt by it. 

“Blaine asked me not to tell you. He wanted to ease you into it himself, and I thought that would be the best way to handle it!” 

Easing Kurt into it? If that was Blaine’s goal on Friday, then he must have woken up feeling particularly tactless that morning.

“How long have you two been talking about me, deciding what I can and can’t handle?” He asks, dreading the answer. 

“It wasn’t like that, Kurt,” Rachel speaks with just a smidge of sympathy. “I asked you first, you remember that, don’t you? And you wouldn’t tell me anything!”    
  


“I had a good reason for that, Rachel,” Kurt says, internally debating how he should continue. He could tell her everything - he probably would have done already if they were still sharing an apartment, over a mug of hot water with lemon and under a shared woolly blanket - but those moments seem like they were aeons ago now. As painful as it is he has to acknowledge that, right now, she’s closer to Blaine, and she’s got enough on her plate without having to knowingly lie to him for Kurt’s sake. “It’s…” He takes a long look at her, savouring the last of the honesty between them before he sacrifices it. Tthings with Sebastian are new and confusing, and I really… I don’t know what I’m doing, Rachel. I’d like to understand the details myself before I start sharing them.”

At least there are some half-truths in there.   
  
Her eyes widen for a split second, her whole body giving away her urge to yell  _ ‘I knew it!’  _ But, thankfully, she has just enough sense to not gloat right in Kurt’s miserable, weary face.

“I suppose that’s understandable…” She drops the theatricality with a great deal of reluctance, leaving Kurt the only actor in the room. “I’m not saying that I’m okay with this, or him, but... I am sorry, Kurt. I should have been more patient, but I really was just lending Blaine an ear.” 

He hates how readily she’s accepting it, but he’s grateful for it all the same. 

She steps closer, setting a hand on his shoulder, and despite everything, he still feels comforted by her simply being there.

“I’m sorry, too.” He says and nearly laughs out loud at the surprised look on Rachel’s face. “Not for keeping my business to myself - I stand by that - but for getting so sucked up in it when we’d barely said two words to each other. In my defence, you’d been ignoring my texts for months, and living on my own for that long made it sort of hard to think about anything  _ but  _ my relationship problems and—”

“No, Kurt, don’t. I missed you like crazy, but I was just so ashamed, and—” She looks up at him, taking his left hand in both of her own. “Let’s start again, as co-directors, and as friends. We’ve got a few months until the new year, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be a new us.” She sounds so deadly serious, and Kurt is touched - even though he’s well aware of her fair-weather friend tendencies, he feels inclined to give her that chance. 

He starts to feel good about it until she adds: “nothing but honesty and trust from here on out.”

“Nothing but,” he agrees anyway, ignoring the lead-heavy feeling in his gut. 

“Perfect.” She lets go of his hands, a bubbly smile gracing her features. “Now, back to the sheets?”

Kurt clicks his tongue, setting his thoughts firmly back on their work. Burying himself in musical scores might be the easiest way to forget his worries, but…

“I think we need to take a more proactive approach here, Rachel. Mr Schue didn’t just leave it to the flyers, did he?” She looks up at him inquisitively - of course, the flyers were enough for the two of them to sign up. He smiles nostalgically, staring distantly at the piano keys. “I’m not saying we should go as far as blackmailing the star quarterback…” Rachel’s smile matches his now, equally wistful and amused, “but I don’t think twiddling our thumbs and cataloguing Les Mis song-by-song is going to get us many members.”

She nods slowly, contemplating their options for a few seconds before she seems to have a eureka moment. “You’re absolutely right, Kurt, and I know exactly what we need to do.” Kurt would love for her to elaborate on that, but he knows she won’t - she’s got yet another dramatic reveal in store. “I’ve got something to take care of, so I’ll leave you in charge of our filing system - but could you do me a favour later?”

“If I can get through these sheets before Thanksgiving, then maybe,” Kurt’s already shuffling bits of paper around, “what is it?”

“Head to the locker rooms at 3. Look for the kid called Spencer - I think he could be a key player for us, as well as coach Beiste and Sam - and then meet me in the auditorium for our first lot of auditions at 3:15 sharp.”

As charming as her optimism is, Kurt can’t help but question it. “Rachel, the only names on the sign-up sheets that I’ve seen are Tess Tickles and Holden Magroin. I don’t think there’ll be much of a turnout.”

“It’s our job to be their regardless! Besides,” she walks back towards the door, making sure Kurt sees her sly smile as she steps through it, “I think you’ll be surprised.”

  
  


“So, let me get this straight,” Spencer says between bicep curls, his words fluid despite the exertion, “the only reason you’re here to talk to me is that we’re both  _ not  _ straight.”

Of course. 

Kurt should have asked Rachel why she would send him, of all people, to reach out to a kid on the football team. He may have been on it for a month, but they have Sam on their side, whose commitment to this team has lasted past his graduation. He’s the superior choice by far.

It’s a little bit reductive of her to send him solely based on their matching sexualities, but Kurt likes to think her intentions were a little more sophisticated than that. Coming out, as Spencer must have to be speaking so frankly about it now, can sometimes be just as isolating as staying in the closet - Kurt knows that better than anyone. His junior year, up until he met Blaine, was swamped by that specific facet of loneliness, and even if he’s established his spot at the top of the McKinley social food-chain Kurt can’t imagine his experience hugely differing. 

“It’s an important thing to have in common. Only a gay man truly knows what the world is like for us out there.” Kurt tries to catch his eye, but he’s up and moving again, laying down on the weight bench. If it’s an attempt to get Kurt to give up then it’s a failure; Kurt simply moves to spot him. NYADA’s gym was always a little too crowded for his tastes, but at least he got some useful knowledge out of the sessions he spent there with his stage-combat class. 

Spencer’s gaze is fixed firmly on the barbell he’s setting up overhead. “I know that when you were in high school, being gay was how you primarily identified yourself - but that’s not my thing.”

“Isn’t it everybody else’s thing?”

Spencer pauses, his eyes flickering towards his teammates lingering nearby, oblivious to their discussion. “When I told people I was gay, only two of the guys on the team had a problem with it, and Coach Beiste kicked them off.” he begins his lifts, his gaze now fixed on the ceiling, pointedly avoiding Kurt. 

“You’re naive if you think that kind of progress has nothing to do with us. You owe the glee club for—”

“I owe Modern Family!” Spencer huffs out a laugh as he pushes the weights away from himself. “More than that, I owe myself. When those two guys cornered me out in the parking lot, I taught them a lesson. One of them ended the day with his jaw wired shut, and I’m pretty sure the other one never stopped running. If it wasn’t obvious enough—” Spencer sets the weights back on the rack, “I didn’t make that happen with a killer dance number.” 

He’s doing a wonderful job at outwardly projecting indifference, but Kurt empathises more than this kid realises. He may be more athletically inclined, and times may be changing for the better, but they know similar strife. 

“Whenever I found myself cornered, I turned to music. To expressing myself,” Kurt watched as Spencer shuffles forward, standing up again. A few of the guys have started to look his way and Spencer has noticed. “There’s nothing wrong with—”

“Listen, dude,” Spencer cuts him off, sounding far more condescending than Kurt would ever have dared to be to an adult at his age. “I’m only going to say this once: I can’t stand Gaga, I’ve never seen Newsies, and I don’t write Archie fanfiction where Archie and Jughead are hot for each other. I’m not like you. I’m not the stereotype you guys want to recruit. I’m not saying no because the glee club’s gay or straight - I’m saying no because it sucks.”

There are a few voices snickering around them now, and Kurt can tell that making a scene now will only turn Spencer away for good.    
  
“Just think about it, alright?”

Spencer merely scoffs at him before he walks away, heading towards the lockers, and Kurt hastily makes his exit. 

He starts savouring the B.O-less air of the hallway the second the door shuts behind him, leaning against the wall beside it. 

It’s not like he was asking Spencer to cover himself in rainbow glitter and parade himself down the hallways, but at some point, he must have touched a nerve. In some respects, Kurt can understand that desire to distance oneself from all the things an ignorant person might expect a gay man to be, the type that enrages bigots everywhere, but over the years he’s learned to accept the parts of himself that do fit that image. His voice, his style, his hobbies - they may seem effeminate to some, but what’s wrong with that? He’s a man regardless. Embracing himself and having the confidence to do so is all he needs to prove it.

The words of a high schooler shouldn’t be able to get under his skin like this, not anymore, but he’s sick of always being shut down as the ‘wrong kind of gay.’ He’s been put in that box time and time again by friend and foe alike, and he just wishes they’d all realise how much more there is to him.

He’s pulled out of his thoughts by a distant rattling sound and turns to his right to watch Sam wheeling a palette stacked high with heavy-looking containers towards him.

“Hey,” Sam stops beside him, setting the handle down with a relieved grunt. He stands back up, stretching his arms above his head, looking at Kurt with a gaze that’s far too knowing for him to be comfortable with. “What’s wrong?”

“Wrong?” Kurt echoes, thrown by the question. “Nothing, nothing at all-- are those all industrial-sized tubs of protein powder…?” He asks, half deflecting, half genuinely curious.

“Yep, Beiste’s weekly shipment,” Sam answers, giving one of them a pat. Kurt nods, prematurely relieved to have gotten away from Sam’s questioning. “But seriously, what’s up?”

Kurt is at a loss. There are several problems he could tell Sam about, and even if he were to decide on one, he wouldn’t know where to start. He’s not used to answering questions like that anymore. 

“Really, Sam, it’s nothing.”

“I know that’s not true.” Sam seems awfully sure about this, and more concerned than Kurt would have expected him to be. “Were the guys on the team giving you a hard time in there? Because I can—”

“What? No, Sam, it’s nothing like that.” Spencer may have got him overthinking, but he’s just a kid trying to forge his own identity. 

“Then it’s the Blaine thing,” Kurt feels like he’s been slapped by the directness of it. “Come on, dude, I know what you look like when you’re bummed out, and I know you’re pretending to take it better than you really are,” Sam tells him, with no room for discussion.

He misses Blaine sorely. He misses that feeling of closeness, of knowing that there’s another person out there willing to love him in spite of his flaws, of having somebody to rely on and being relied on in turn. It’s an all-consuming feeling of loss that has him doing crazy things, like turning to Sebastian Smythe for help and lying to everyone’s faces. Right now, he just wants to be real with somebody.

Kurt sighs, and ducks his head. “What gave it away, detective?”

“Elementary, my dear Watson,” Sam mimes taking a puff from a tobacco pipe, and Kurt figures he set himself up for hearing Sam’s stab at a British accent - which isn’t half bad, admittedly. “You didn’t have anything to say when Ms Berry mentioned her New Directions costume ideas for the coming year at Mr Schuester’s dinner party.” 

Kurt doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. It’s worrying to think that his innermost feelings were blatantly obvious to Sam, but Kurt knows he doesn’t have a single evil bone in his body, so he lands somewhere in between the two with a feeble smile. “You know Sherlock never actually said the ‘elementary’ thing, right?”

Sam opens his mouth, shuts it again, and bats at the air. “Eh, details aren’t important…”

“Another thing Sherlock Holmes would never say--”

“Impressions are all about the energy, anyway!” Sam declares, and they begin filling the otherwise empty corridor with their laughter.

“Thank you, Sam,” Kurt says with a refreshing hit of sincerity. “It’s nice to know I’ve still got friends looking out for me, no matter how complicated things are right now.”

“You must’ve been needing them for a while. How long were you on your own in the city for?”

It’s a difficult question - not because it’s especially complex, but because it’s the first time he’s been asked. His mouth hangs open, suspended in an attempt to answer it that doesn’t amount to anything more than, “I…”

“I thought about coming back to that spot, you know,” Sam continues, with a tone that says he’s wanted to tell Kurt this for a while.

Kurt remembers that day all too well - how hopeful he was when he left the loft, how long he waited on that street corner, how the rain battering his umbrella was his only company. Kurt shivers, as though he could catch another chill from the memory. 

“I wanted to be there, seriously - I know it doesn’t make a difference now, but I’d  _ just  _ got this job and scraped together enough cash for my own apartment, so I--”

“Sam,” Kurt holds a hand up, only to keep himself from being overwhelmed. He was so sure none of the others had cared, that they’d seen it as an empty promise and that he’d clung to it simply because he had nothing else to look forward to once Blaine moved out. Just hearing that Sam wanted to be there smooths over a crack in his heart. “I get it, really, I do. We’ve all done a ridiculous amount of flying back and forth already, and if you feel like you’ve found your place here, then I’m glad. Really.” 

Their smiles seem to grow in unison, bolstered by one another. 

“I think I have, Lima’s totally my speed. The Big Apple is super shiny and sounds delicious, but I don’t know, when I took my bite it tasted like an ashtray.” Sam shrugs, and Kurt suppresses another laugh - only because Sam looks so deadly serious about it. “What about you? Is it kind of weird, being back in Ohio now?”

It’s another question that’s harder to answer than it should be. He loves it here, he always will; it’s where he grew up, found his best friends, found love - but New York is where he found himself. 

He’s starting to feel relaxed with Sam and, quite frankly, a little worn out by the chaos of the past few days. Kurt started this little web of lies, and he knows that it’s his own fault that Rachel’s gotten stuck on it, but he fully intends to see it through with as few repercussions as possible for everyone he’s involved. Even so, it’s not the only thing sitting heavy on his soul. When he thinks back, he can’t recall anybody else asking him how he’s doing irrespective of the breakup. 

Inexplicably, his mind sends him back to that kitchen with Sebastian, where he’s being told that he’s being too hard on himself - but he chases that image away as quickly as it comes because he remembers the reason he was so rattled at that moment in the first place. 

“It’s hard.” Kurt wrings his hands together, toying with his fingers like it might help unravel the knots in his head. “I love that house. I love my dad, and I love Carole, but it’s just… Walking past that room every day, looking at that door now that it’s always closed, and coming here now that he’s not around…”

He could be more specific, but they both know who he’s talking about.

The silence that follows when Kurt trails off is uncomfortably familiar. Eventually, he has to avert his eyes from Sam’s, struck by the worry that he’s overstepped, overshared, and ruined their chance to reconnect.

Thankfully, Sam doesn’t let that happen. 

“I get it,” he nods slowly, and when Kurt manages to look up again he knows that Sam means every word. “I feel the same way every time I walk past his jersey in the locker room. I can’t imagine never getting a break from that…” He sighs, deflating before he immediately perks up again. “That settles it. You’ve got to crash at my place sometime!”

Kurt doesn’t know if ‘emotional whiplash’ is a real thing that can happen to people, but if it is, it’s happening to him now. He’s never claimed to understand Sam’s unique way of thinking and he’s not about to start, but at least he can trust in his ability to lighten a heavy atmosphere. Kurt struggles a little to roll with the punches like that in the same way he finds himself struggling to take Sam’s proposal at face value.

“I appreciate the offer, but are you sure I wouldn’t be getting in your way? I don’t think Blaine would appreciate me monopolising all of his best friend’s free time right now.”

“Blaine cares about you, man, so if I’m helping you out then I’m doing him a favour.” Sam wants to reassure him, but his earnest tone only serves to remind Kurt of his mistakes. If Blaine really does still care about him, it doesn’t feel deserved anymore. His hesitation must be showing on his face because Sam raises his hands in surrender. “I’d better get these to coach Beiste, or she’ll grind me into next week’s protein powder for taking so long - but think about it, okay?” He picks up the palette’s handle again before tugging the door open. “It’s only fair. I spent more than enough time crashing at your place. It’s about time I returned the favour.” 

The wheels rattle as Sam lugs them out of sight, and Kurt finds himself alone again aside from the occasional student ambling past him. None of them are headed towards the auditorium, he notes, and he anticipates a great deal of disappointment on Rachel’s end. He would have hoped for at least a few auditionees himself but after his abysmal talk with Spencer, the glee club ending its first day with any actual members looks like an increasingly far-fetched reality.

He peeks at his phone, wondering how long he has until he needs to be there himself, only to find a notification he wasn’t expecting.

**[Facebook**

**> Sebastian Smythe sent you a friend request.]**

_ Huh.  _ Kurt opens the app, half-convinced he’s imagining it. He wouldn’t be shocked to find himself hallucinating, given the category 5 cyclone his thoughts have been lately. 

It’s still there by the time the app loads, and McKinley’s budget wifi has given Sebastian plenty of time to withdraw the request if it was a misclick. Kurt wonders if it’s an olive branch of sorts - they’re still reacquainting under very strange circumstances, but they weren’t arguing when Kurt left last night. 

Then again, they  _ were _ arguing about 5 minutes before that. 

Either way, this presents Kurt with an opportunity. Is it a particularly mature thought? No, not by a long shot, but Kurt can’t imagine better men being able to resist a chance to snoop like this.

The recent stuff would be more useful to study since he’s still got to fabricate the narrative of their ‘relationship’ but a petty voice in the back of his head tells him to go a little deeper first. What would a young Sebastian Smythe be like online? A massive dork? Painfully edgy? An infinitely embarrassing presence, just begging to be unearthed as prime blackmail material?

Unfortunately, he soon discovers there’s no way to find out. The profile was created in 2011, not long after Kurt’s senior year would have started. Odd. 

There are several pictures Sebastian has posted of some jaw-dropping locations, all at once after the profile was made. Kurt spies several landmarks from Paris, as well as the Parthenon, the Colosseum, Sagrada Família, (all of which feature on his bucket list) but it’s not the distances he must have travelled that sends Kurt’s mind wandering. 

It’s the fact that, in all of them, he’s alone.

That changes eventually, once photos of him fronting the Warblers start popping up, but there’s nothing to indicate any of his older memories are shared. There must be somebody behind the camera in the wide shots, but they never make an appearance. It reminds Kurt of his own early days on Facebook, a few years before Sebastian’s, when he had 0 friends and the beginnings of a daily outfit journal he still maintains, even though the updates are a little less consistent lately. (It’s hard to balance a degree, a job, an internship, a life, and a log of his clothes - but he updates it at least once a week.)

Kurt’s Facebook profile has been as private as physically possible since about a week after his freshman year of high school began - when cyberbullying was still finding its feet. Therefore accepting Sebastian’s request would allow him to see those photos, and Kurt’s not sure how he feels about that. 

Regardless, he’s depending on Sebastian now and declining any request he might have sounds like a bad move. 

Less than 3 seconds after he accepts it, he receives a message. 

**[Sebastian Smythe:** What time is school out today? **]**

Kurt wipes the screen before he begins contemplating his response. It’s not exactly polite to answer a question with a question, but Kurt has more than he can hold back.

**[Kurt Hummel: ** You couldn’t text me to ask this because…? **]**

**[Sebastian Smythe:** Because… You literally didn’t give me your number, Einstein]

Oh. Right. Kurt hadn’t really planned on having any contact with him until the details of Blaine’s reunion became clear - but he hadn’t planned on Rachel getting herself involved either. Maybe it’s best for them to hash out the details of their agreement now before things spiral further out of control. 

Before he can start typing, Sebastian grows too impatient to wait.

**[Sebastian Smythe: ** Besides, we wouldn’t make very convincing boyfriends if we weren’t even facebook friends, would we? **]**

He has a point, annoyingly. (Annoying because Kurt didn’t think of it first.)

**[Kurt Hummel:** I suppose we wouldn’t. Lucky I told Blaine we were still figuring everything out **]**

**[Sebastian Smythe: ** I’d feel luckier if you’d answer my question **]**

**[Kurt Hummel:** Um, I should be done here at 3:30...? **]**

**[Sebastian Smythe: ** Relax. Unclench. I’m not planning anything sketchy. **]**

**[Sebastian Smythe: ** That’s a lie, actually. It’s remarkably sketchy. Downright insidious. But it was your idea, and if I’m going to go along with it I have a few terms I’d like to discuss **]**

Kurt checks the time. He has exactly 9 minutes to get to the auditorium and begins power walking his way there because being anything less than 5 minutes early would be unprofessional in his view. The mild panic he feels at the prospect of Sebastian making demands helps his speed.

**[Kurt Hummel:** Care to elaborate? **]**

**[Sebastian Smythe:** Shit. Got to go, but this is important. Think you could pick me up from here at 4? **]**

**[Sebastian Smythe has sent a location.]**

Kurt’s ready to try and negotiate a meeting place a little closer to Lima than the Columbus cul-de-sac he’s become an unintentional regular at, but upon further examination he might not need to worry about that. 

**[Kurt Hummel:** Sebastian??? That’s a hospital??? **]**

It’s a hospital just outside of Lima, to be more specific - which Kurt only knows because Carole works there. It’s as worrying to see in this context as it is confusing. 

**[Sebastian Smythe: ** Look at that! Einstein can read. See you there **]**

Before Kurt can get any sort of helpful clarification, Sebastian Smythe is officially listed as offline. Wonderful.

He stamps down any flickering anxieties at the thought of visiting a hospital - and the reasons Sebastian might have for being there. Surely he would have mentioned if it was something serious, like an injury? From the messages, it’s clear he didn’t fall and break his snark. 

There was no real chance to object, but he’s hardly in a position to turn Sebastian down even if he could. Maybe these ‘terms’ of his involve Kurt acting as an on-call chauffeur for a while, although if the family’s home is any indication, he could probably afford a professional if he so desired.

Whatever they are, they have no place being on his mind while he’s in the auditorium. 

When he arrives, (precisely 6 minutes early) Rachel is pacing back and forth along the foot of the stage, across which the curtains are drawn. It seems like an odd set-up for auditions, almost as though Rachel’s given up on them already - which is very unlike her.

“Kurt!” She seems surprised to see him, which isn’t promising. He can’t see any stationary lying around or on her person, and he can’t comprehend why she’d arrive early, yet so unprepared. “Right on time,” she chirps, even though he’s not really, and that gleam in her eye knits all of Kurt’s observations into a yarn ball of apprehension. She tilts her head to peer behind him, wearing the slightest frown. “Spencer’s not with you?”

“He’s not. I appreciate why you thought the club might be good for him, Rachel, but  _ he _ didn’t appreciate being singled out like that.” When he phrases it that way, he understands Spencer’s refusal a little better. Kurt folds his arms, stood at the top of the steps leading down towards the front seats, but he doesn’t move any closer. He figures it’s best to hold the door open, just in case any students get curious enough to wander in. Rachel starts walking towards him, and he decides to be a little more upfront. “You should have told me why you sent me, rather than Sam - especially considering we were talking about honesty and trust just before you asked me to find him.” He pauses there, knowing that the more he chastises Rachel for omitting the truth, the more of a hypocrite he becomes.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry. I just thought you’d have a little more luck getting through that outer-shell than I did, as a real role model for him.” Her motivations were as Kurt predicted, albeit misguided in their approach. Rachel pouts as she reaches the top of the stairs, but she doesn’t look particularly remorseful. “I tried to persuade him myself, but it didn’t go to plan. He called me shrill! Can you believe it?” She asks, before realising her mistake. “Don’t answer that,” she tells Kurt, with a stern point.

“I’ll take that self-burn as payback for subjecting me to his wrath,” Kurt says. Rachel takes his arm after giving it a playful swat, an impish grin spreading across her face as she begins leading him back down the stairs she just climbed. Kurt is growing ever warier, and if her grip wasn’t so insistent, he would refuse to move with her until he understands what she’s up to. “I don’t think either of us were destined to sway him - the glee club officially ‘sucks’ in the eyes of the student body once again. We let Sue run this place for, what, a year? And all of a sudden our legacy’s forgotten.”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s going to be a problem for long.” Rachel keeps casting him furtive little glances, and Kurt’s had enough of them. 

“Okay, that’s it. You’re up to something Rachel, I can practically smell it on you. It sounds like you  _ knew  _ recruiting Spencer would be hopeless, and you keep spouting weird phrases a person would never say outside of a mystery  _ z _ -movie.” Kurt weasels out of her grip on the last step, turning to face her with his hands set firmly on his hips. “The gig is up! You’re lucky there’s nobody here to audition - you’ve got plenty of time to explain what it’s about.”

Rachel tries to look affronted for a moment, as though he’s making his accusation blindly, but she soon realises he won’t buy it. “You, Kurt Hummel, are a difficult man to surprise.”

“Surprise? What are you--”

“Look, Kurt,” Rachel huffs, pulling him towards the lip of the stage. “I know I may have seemed a little… Unsupportive this morning. In the spirit of honesty as we discussed I will say that I don’t understand it, but we’ve been there for each other through a million other… Risky choices. So, from here on out, I’m going to do my best to trust your judgement on what’s best for you, even when I don’t totally agree with it.”

“O...kay…?” Kurt scans the space around them, hunting for hidden cameras or Ashton Kutcher crouching behind the seats, waiting to jump out and tell him he’s been  _ Punk’d _ . He has the distinct sense that he’s hurtling towards disaster, because Rachel looks far too proud of herself. “And this is going… Where, exactly?”

“I just wanted to remind you of how important you are to me. We’ve always been important to each other,” she says, with a warmth that makes him regret getting so snappy about whatever she’s scheming. “I love Blaine too, and I wanted to help him, but I shouldn’t have disregarded your feelings in the process. He may be my Seymour, but you’ve been my Glinda since we broke into the Gershwin theatre!” Kurt chooses to overlook being cast in a woman’s role for the little spark of joy he feels, knowing that that memory is still close to her heart the way it is to his. “In short, I was listening more closely than it seemed. I know that I took away your chance to tell me about--” she stops short, with a conspicuous glance towards the curtains, “...Your news. It should have been your decision to break it to me! And you were totally right about being proactive and reaching out. I figured, why not kill two birds with one stone and get us some help?”

As it starts to dawn on him, Rachel’s grin stretches so far Kurt worries her cheeks will split. Bringing in some reinforcements is standard New Directions behaviour, but it’s the talk of sharing his news that sets off alarm bells. “Help? You mean, like Mr Schue? Or--”

Rachel can’t contain her excitement any longer. She claps her hands, and the curtains are pulled back. They do not reveal Will Schuester.

Instead, they reveal just about everybody else. 

Santana. Quinn. Brittany. Tina. Mike. Artie. Mercedes. 

Sam jogs onto the stage once the curtains are fully open - he must have snuck in through the back entrance, but isn’t he meant to be at football practice? 

Scratch that - aren’t all of these people supposed to be hundreds of miles away?

“Oh god, Rachel,” he stammers, his eyes wide, but not wide enough to truly visually process it. 

“Well, don’t look so pleased to see us, Lady Hummel,” Santana speaks up first, “do we need to leave the room and make a grander entrance for you to acknowledge us? Because I did not let Rachel Berry stuff me behind a curtain for a freaking half hour for you to--”

Kurt’s up there before she can finish her thoughts Kurt is up on the stage, pulling her into a hug - partly to shut her up, and partly to welcome her back to Lima. “Oh, Santana… I’ve missed your particular brand of evil.”

“That’s because you’re a masochist.” She pats his back, giving him a nearly imperceptible squeeze. “Now let me go before I show you a  _ really  _ good time.”

“You’d better let her go! Get over here,” Mercedes marches towards him, arms already open. “Let me appreciate you properly.”

Kurt indulges her, and for a moment he forgets his stressors, each one replaced by greetings and hugs and kisses on cheeks. 

That is until he reaches Tina, who wears a deep scowl, at the end of the line. 

Kurt takes a tentative step towards her, but she shakes her head. 

“No. I’m not going to sit back like the rest of you, and act like there’s not a Judas in our midst!”

Rachel winces.

“I’m… Sorry?” Kurt knows she’s been a little more erratic since her senior year, but from what Blaine told him she mellowed out at Brown, and-- Ah. “Tina, I know you care about Blaine, but he’s over what happened between us--”

“He was - until you replaced him with that… That… Mosquito!”

“Mosquito?” Brittany pipes up, “wait, I don’t get it. I thought Kurt’s new Blaine was bigger than his old Blaine. Mosquitos are tiny--” Santana silences her with a gentle hand on her shoulder, and mouthing a silent ‘ _ no, Britt. _ ’

“New Blaine?” Kurt turns from Tina to face the group behind him. Nobody’s looking straight at him anymore. Brittany could only mean a new boyfriend, but there’s no way. Things couldn’t have possibly gone so wrong so quickly - except they could have because just about everything seems to be going that way as of late. “Rachel,” he turns towards her agonisingly slow. “What have you been telling everybody?” 

“She didn’t tell us anything.” Quinn steps forward, and only then does Kurt realise he’s stood in the middle of everybody, closed in with no viable escape. “Most of us heard about it from Tina, if not from Blaine. We were  _ supposed,”  _ she pauses, with a pointed look at Tina, “to act like we didn’t know anything until you told us yourself.”

“The people have a right to know, Quinn! The people also have a right to be angry about it.”

“Hold up,” Artie sounds like he’s about to burst out laughing, “so all that wasn’t a joke?” When he realises that nobody else is as amused as he is, he sobers in an instant. “You’re actually seeing that Smythe guy after everything he did to us?”

There’s a small ripple of malcontent spreading across the room, be it through whispers Kurt can’t hear or pissed-off glances being exchanged across the stage. Being the centre of it all is overwhelming; it’s been a long time since he’s faced as many of his old friends as he is now. 

“Mm, yeah,  _ no me gusta. _ ” Santana’s voice cuts above the rest. “I didn’t put myself forward to tear that twink to shreds in our sing-off only for you to bone him the second you got a little lonely--”

He’s fully expecting Mercedes to be as reproachful as everybody else - the scornful look on her face is enough to make Kurt certain of it, until he realises she’s aiming it at Santana.

“Does he make you happy, Kurt?” She asks, effectively silencing the room. Although a few of his friends are still openly irate, (Santana, Artie, and Tina if he must name names) he realises they’re largely looking at him with concern.

“Euphoric,” he answers thickly, banking on his hesitance sounding more like bashfulness.

“Good. You know what that means?  _ None of us, _ ” she says, sternly, eyeing every last member of their group, “could ask anything more than that. Right guys?” She winks at Kurt with a smile that feels like home - he just wishes he deserved it. Mercedes didn’t even hesitate to fight in his corner, but she has no clue she’s fighting for a liar.

“Right.” Mike backs her up, flashing a well-meaning grin in Kurt’s direction. “Either way, we came back for the glee club. We’re at your disposal, commanders!”

It’s obvious that not everybody’s willing to lay down and accept Kurt’s ‘choices’, but for now, they seem to be willing to call a truce. He’ll take what he can get - including Mike’s wonderful subject changing. Kurt’s going to get him a new pair of tap shoes for that.

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t all come back here at the drop of a hat just to give me a rather unnecessary intervention,” Kurt says with a chuckle, doing his best to ignore the slightly guilty look on Rachel’s face as a result. “But I have to ask, and I mean it in the nicest way possible - don’t you all have lives?”

“They’re here because I asked them to be. I confess, when I first realised Blaine everybody else knew about your… Activities with Sebastian, I wanted to put a stop to it - but now it’s all worked out, hasn’t it?” Rachel says, with a smile so nervous in its hopefulness that Kurt can’t bring himself to get wound up about her original plan. “Besides, everybody’s just in time for homecoming!”

_ Oh, that.  _ Kurt hasn’t paid it any mind thus far, mainly because he stayed in the shadows during those festivities when he was still a student. He came to the games to support Finn and their glee club friends, of course, but he would quickly scarper home once the last whistle blew. If the football team lost - as they usually did - the Neanderthals amongst them would be more eager than ever to take their aggression out on Kurt. If they had won, well, Kurt can only imagine they’d have been even worse. 

Maybe it’ll be nice to attend as a staff member. It’s a celebration, isn’t it? And that, by default, makes it an excuse to put together a killer outfit. 

“I get hives at the mere thought of admitting this, but hey, Sue’s actually turned the McKinley Titans into a decent threat in time for the game,” Santana says, looking disgusted as she does so. “Everybody’s going to turn up to watch them kick some ass, even if they wouldn’t know a touchdown from goose-down - which means plenty of nerds to fall victim to your imminent failure of a glee club.”

“She’s right. I still can’t understand why they don’t call it armpitegg, and I’m going to be there.” Brittany chimes in, a smug smile on her face despite her misunderstanding.    
  
They have a point. Rachel beams with pride, as though she invented the concept of homecoming herself for this specific purpose. Kurt’s starting to feel a little more confident himself. If they can use homecoming to really get the New Directions back on their feet, it could be a major turning point for them.

“And I’m going to be homecoming king this time for sure. College made you all a little uglier, but I didn’t go, so I’m totally a shoo in.” Brittany adds, to everybody else’s dismay.

“Wait, I thought you ran for  _ prom  _ king?” Mike asks.

“She did, even though she’s a girl!” Tina objects, before grumbling something Kurt can’t quite hear about the ‘uglier’ comment.

“Don’t listen to them, Britt. They’re just jealous because you’re right, we’re the hottest couple here, and they can’t find anybody who reeks of uninteresting side-character enough to replace one another.” Santana steps in, looking adoringly at her girlfriend and ignoring the sounds of indignation coming from their former classmates. Instead, she sets her eyes on Kurt in a way that makes him feel like he’s about to be assassinated. “That is, unless teenage mutant ninja turtle-face over here thinks he and Master Splinter can outdo us.”

Everybody else in the room has the luxury to laugh at that joke. Kurt, personally, knows he would have loved to come up with Master Splinter back in high school with Sebastian sneering at him over whatever pretentious coffee order he would have chosen - but he can’t say so. 

Because Sebastian is his ‘boyfriend’ now. Because he has to keep them all convinced that he would willingly date Sebastian Smythe. On purpose. Which would involve being attracted to him.  _ Ugh. _

“You’ve got nothing on us, sorry ladies.” Kurt tells them, hoping his little laugh comes across as playful, rather than hysterical. He can barely look her in the eyes as he says it, especially when her brow furrows just the tiniest bit, like she’s lockpicking his soul as she stares him down.

“Oh no, Santana, Kurt totally won prom queen already! You can’t let him do that again, you’re my queen. And then new Blaine will be prom king, which is stupid, because he doesn’t even go here!” Brittany whines, thankfully breaking Santana’s concentration. 

“None of us go here anymore, Brittany. None of us can be prom queen, for a whole host of reasons. Namely, because it’s not the prom.” Quinn says, her patience clearly being tested.

“Jealous because you never actually won one of those crowns?” Santana teases, simpering at Quinn.

“I would’ve won in senior year if I wasn’t so damn charitable!” Quinn bites back, before wincing when she spots Rachel’s pout. 

“Whatever, Q - the point is, you’re bringing your new pet rat along on Friday, aren’t you, Lady Hummel?” Santana says, zeroing in on Kurt again to his disdain.

_ Shit.  _ He remembers Elliott taught him about something called Murphy’s law once, but right now he can’t remember any surefire ways to break it. He’s pretty sure it’s too late anyway because Santana’s stood in her signature victory stance, with her arms folded and her grin shit-eating, and the others are trying to inconspicuously listen in as they talk amongst themselves.

(Sam is rather conspicuous, but that can’t be helped - he’s got to bend down quite far to whisper to Artie.)

Kurt knows when he’s being challenged, and he knows how it feels to be cornered in every possible sense of the word. Santana knows it too, she wouldn’t be wearing that grin if she didn’t, and everybody else is firmly expecting a yes. 

When it becomes abundantly clear that Kurt’s not going to figure out a formula for time travel in his head before his silence becomes suspicious, he decides to cave and give the people what they want. 

“Of course we’ll be there,” Kurt says, with a smile so fake his lips sting with it. Everybody’s still watching him though, still questioning behind their loaded stares, and he knows that every single one of them officially has the power to blow his cover if they’re not convinced. 

Which means getting Sebastian on board with something else.

Which reminds Kurt that,  _ shit, _ he’s meant to be picking him up at the end of the hour to discuss their ‘terms,’ whatever the hell that means, and now he’s going to have to figure out a way to sweeten the pot enough to get him to come to a  _ public school homecoming  _ and--   
  
“I’ve got to run, actually,” he blurts out, receiving a huff from Rachel for it. 

“Kurt, what could possibly be more important than our first lot of auditions?” She asks, her lower lip sticking out in a pout she’s a decade too old to pull off. 

“A reunion, apparently?” Kurt answers plainly, gesturing to the crowd of alumni Rachel has gathered. “We both knew nobody was going to turn up, or else you wouldn’t have brought in the whole Brady bunch,” (he’s grateful for all the concurring mumbles he hears, ranging from  _ ‘he’s got a point’  _ to  _ ‘he probably shouldn’t call us the Brady bunch when half of us have dated each other’ _ ) “and I have a prior engagement. I’m meeting Sebastian for--”

“A quickie? Wanky...”

“--no, Santana,” Kurt refuses that immediately, chasing the feelings of revulsion away from his expression. For one thing,  _ ew, no, never,  _ and for another, he’s never been the type to let things get that physical that quickly. If he’s going to orchestrate a fake relationship, he’s going to do it at his own pace - that being said, he needs to have a plan of some sorts. “Just… For coffee.”

“I want details later,” Mercedes says sternly, before she’s at his side and tugging him into another fierce hug. When he moves away her eyes are shining with curiosity and excitement, and she seems seriously  _ happy  _ for him where everybody else seems to be tolerating the idea of Kurt moving on at best, and seriously doubting it at worst. Somehow, her genuine enthusiasm hurts more. 

“Of course,” he tells her, feeling like the scum of the earth. He takes a step back, ignoring Santana’s lingering suspecting gaze, focusing on the idle chatter that resumes within the group. He feels bad for leaving so soon, but none of them will want to speak to him ever again if he doesn’t follow through with his ruse. “We’ll get started bright and early tomorrow, okay? These McKinley kids won’t know what hit ‘em.”

“Can’t you make him wait a little longer, Kurt? This is prime strategising time!” Rachel calls out as he hops off of the stage. 

“I would’ve left plenty of time for strategising if I knew this was coming! That’s what you get for trying to surprise me…” He sing-songs back, halfway up the stairs, leaving his friends to focus on the heated debate between Artie and Brittany that’s broken out centre-stage.

(“It’s football, Brittany. They throw it, they catch it, it’s a ball!”   
  
“Nuh-uh, it’s an egg. They keep it in their armpits so it’ll stay warm and hatch.”   
  
“Wait, what do you think would hatch from it…?”   
  
“A baby jock, duh!”)

It’s the perfect distraction, taking up everybody’s attention as Kurt lets out a breath that shakes with the tension in his shoulders that comes with this stupid, idiotic lie tripping over itself again and growing beyond precedence. He exits quietly, making sure the door closes softly behind him before he meanders through the hallways. He keeps his head ducked as he passes a single student, hunching over an open locker door with a varsity jacket - he could almost swear it’s Spencer, but he’s got no reason to be hanging around, and neither does Kurt. There are more stressful things speeding him along the hall.

He’s got to keep everybody in the loop now.

Worse than that, he’s got to convince Sebastian to help him do it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everybody! Happy almost 2020! 
> 
> I'm sorry this took me so dang long. I won't overshare here, but life took a heavy turn and university work started to pile up, so I had to take care of that before this. I really wanted to keep my update schedule consistent, but to be perfectly honest, I don't think that'll be possible until I finish all of my coursework. This story is my passion, and I am NOT dropping it for anything, but it'll be slow going for a while. :C 
> 
> That being said, I used my Christmas break to really grind this chapter out. I know it's nothing spectacular, and honestly, I'm super nervous about posting this one but hopefully it's fun enough to read!
> 
> In the mean time, I'm thinking I might start publishing some of the shorter drabbles I've come up with. Would anybody be interested in reading those? They'd be easier to manage between these big ol' hefty chapters!
> 
> Hopefully, the wait for chapter 5 shouldn't be as long anyway. Let me know what you thought of this one, I love reading all your comments! They seriously make my day C:
> 
> Tumblr - https://alphabees-writes.tumblr.com/ (When I do update, I'll be sure to post it there!)
> 
> Thanks for reading! <3

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!
> 
> So, this is the first story I've actually posted online, ever. Any feedback whatsoever would be hugely helpful to me, and I'd love to hear your thoughts!!
> 
> Massive shout-out to starlight_daylight for reading this through for me, and otherwise being super nice and encouraging! And for being a kickass Kurtbastian author, of course. 
> 
> I love this pairing so much, and I would love to follow some other fans! If you wanna chat about 'em, you can reach me at Alphabees-writes on Tumblr!


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